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No. 38. 
THECRANE CLASSICS 



THE 

Legend of Sleepy Hollow, 

AND OTHEE ESSAYS. 



BY 

WASHIl^GTON IRVING. 



Crane & Company, Publishers, 

ToPEKA, Kansas. 

1908. 



' iwoOoples necotv;?-- ' 



Copyright 1908, 

By Crane & Company, 

Topeka, Kansas. 



lE-TEODUOTOEY. 



Washington Irving. Born in New York, April 3, 1783; died 
at Sunnyside on the Hudson, November 28, 1859. 

Washington Irving has been called "the Dutch Herod- 
otus," "the Father of American Letters/' "Ihe Addison 
of American Literature/' "the First Ambassador sent by 
the New World of Letters to the Old/' "the Goldsmith of 
the nineteenth century." He wrote under a half-dozen 
pen-names, as follows: Simeon Senex, Jonathan Old- 
style, Launcelot Langstaff, Diedrich Knickerbocker, Fray 
Antonio Agapida, and Geoffrey Crayon. His mother 
was of English descent, his father of Scotch; he himself 
spent many years abroad, but he was a thorough Amer- 
ican. 

He tried law, and made an effort to be interested in 
mercantile pursuits, but his mind was bent on literature, 
and in this field he achieved his greatest honors and found 
in it his life-work. 

He first went abroad in 1804, returning in 1806. In 
1815 he went again to Europe, remaining seventeen years 
away from America. In 1829 he was Secretary of Lega- 
tion at the Court of St. James. He returned to America 
in 1832. As Minister to Spain he spent the years 1842- 
1846 in that country. From 1846 to 1859 he lived a 
retired life at Sunnyside, his beautiful country place near 
Tarrytown, New York. 

(3) 



4 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

As a man of letters he enjoyed a reputation vouchsafed 
to few writers until the perspective of history long after 
their death shall prove their greatness. Sir Walter Scott 
was his warm friend and admirer. The Royal Society of 
Literature in 1830- presented a gold medal to Irving. 
Oxford University conferred on him the degree of D. C. L. 
In his lifetime he met -some financial reverses and knew 
some bitter disappointments, but literary success and the 
admiration of the public were always his portion. 

His. chief biographer was Pierre Irving. Other biograph- 
ical writings concerning him are: "Legend of Sleepy Hol- 
low," by his own pen; Lowell's "Fable for. the Critics;" 
"Dream Life," by Ik Marvel; his biography, by Charles 
Dudley Warner and David J. Hill; and "Sunnyside," in 
Harper's Magazine for December, 1856. 

In Lowell's "Fable for the Critics" he says: 

"What! Irving? thrice welcome, warm heart and fine brain, 
You bring back the happiest spirit from Spain, 
And the gravest sweet huinor that ever were there 
Since Cervantes met death in his gentle despair; 
Nay, don't be embarrassed nor look so beseeching, — 
I sha'n't run directly against your own preaching, 
And having just laughed at their Raphaels and Dantes, 
Go to setting you up beside , matchless Cervantes; 
But' allow me to speak what I honestly feel, — • 
To a true poet-heart add the fun of Dick Steele, 
Throw in all of Addison, minus the chill, . 
With the whole of that partnership's stock and good-will. 
Mix well, and while stirring, hum o'er, as a spell, 
The fine old English gentleman, simmer it well. 
Sweeten just to your ovioi private liking, then strain, 
That only the finest and clearest remain, 
Let it stand out of doors till a soul it receives 
From^the warm lazy sun loitering down through the leaves, 
And you'll find a choice nature, not' wholly deserving 
As name either English or Yankee,^ — jiist Irving." 



INTRODUCTION. O 

Longfellow's sonnet, "In the Churchyard at Tarry- 
town/' is a eulogy on Irving : 

"Here lies the gentle humorist who died 

In the bright Indian Summer of his fame! 
A simple stone, with but a date and name, 

Marks his secluded resting-place beside 
The river that he loved and glorified. 

Here in the autumn of his days he came, 
But the dry leaves of life were all aflame 

With tints that brightened and were multiplied. 
How sweet a life was his ; how sweet a death ! 

Living to wing with mirth the weary hours. 
Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer; 

Dying to leave a memory like the breath 
Of summer sunshine and of showers, 

A grief and gladness in the atmosphere." 

Among Irving's intimate friends were Thomas Moore, 
W. M. Thackeray, George Bancroft, N. P. Willis, James 
K. Paulding, W. H. Prescott, James Fennimore Cooper, 
Samuel Rogers, and Washington Allston. 

As a writer, Irving's style was remarkably pure and 
charming. He led the mind into clear sunny ways; his 
discourse was built up gracefully; while he instructed, he 
did not stir the' emotions to stormy outpouring. He was 
never tragical. As a type of literature for analytic study 
his works are unexcelled in American prose. No literary 
man of the last century more faithfully observed the prin- 
ciple expressed in Longfellow's poem, "The Builders." 
Like the builders of old, Irving 

"Wrought with greatest care 
Each minute and unseen part, 
For the gods see everywhere." 

Herein lies the secret of the writer's enduring quality. 
The hastily wrought prose, like the poorly constructed 



6 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

building, tumbles down with time because its parts are not 
firmly united. It cannot sustain itself. Irving's writ- 
ings are forevermore a part of American literature. 

The following is the list of Irving's works, with date of 
publication : 

Knickerbocker's New York 1809 

The Sketch Book. .■ 1819-1820 

Bracebridge Hall 1822 

Tales of a Traveler 1824 

Life and Voyage of Columbus 1828 

The Conquest of Granada 1829 

The Companions of Columbus 1831 

The Alhambra : 1832 

A Tour of the Prairies 1834 

The Crayon Miscellanies 1835 

Legends of the Conquest of Spain 1835 

Astoria .• 1836 

The Adventures of Captain Bonneville 1837 

Life of Oliver Goldsmith 1849 

Mahomet and His Successors 1849 

Wolfert's Roost 1855 

Life of Washington 1855-1859 

Irving was never married. A half-guessed romance 
couples his name with that of Miss Hoffman, who died in 
young womanhood. His home, Sunnyside, with its idyl- 
lic Sleepy Hollow, and his own quiet happy life there for 
thirteen years previous to his sudden painless death in 
1859, are theme for artist and poet. To make a study of 
Irving's life and writings enriches the mind of the student 
with that kind of wealth that neither moth nor rust can 
corrupt. 



OOIJ^TE]SrTS. 



Page. 
Introduction, ......... 5 

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, ..... 9 

Rip Van Winkle, 46 

Christmas, . ......... 68 

The Stage-Coach, .75 

Christmas Eve, 83 

Christmas Day, ......... 95 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER. 

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, 
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; 
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, 
Forever flushing round a summer sky. 

Castle of Indolence. 

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent 
the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion 
of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators 
the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently short- 
ened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when 
they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, 
which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is moie 
generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. 
This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the 
good housewives of the adjacent country, fiom the in vet- 1* 
erate propensity of their husbands to linger about the vil- 
lage tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not 
vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of 
being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, 
perhaps about two miles, there is a httle valley or rather 
lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest 
places in the whole world. A small brook glides through 
it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose ; and the 
occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is 
almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform 20 

tranquillity. 

(9) 



10 ' THE CKANE CLASSICS. 

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in 
squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that 
shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at 
noontime, when all natm*e is peculiarly quiet, and was 
startled by the roar of my o\'\ti gun, as it broke the Sabbath 
stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by 
the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat 
whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, 

^^ and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I 
know of none more promising than this little valley. 

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar 
character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the 
original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been 
known by the name of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads 
are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neigh- 
boring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to 
hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. 
Some say that the place was bewitched by a High German 

*" doctor, during the early days of the settlement; others 
that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, 
held his powwows there before the country was discovered 
by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still 
continues under the sway of some witching power, that 
holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing 
them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all 
kinds of marvelous beliefs; are subject to trances and vi- 
sions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music 
and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds 

^"with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; 
stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than 
in any other part of the country, and the nightmare, with 
her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of 
her gambols. 

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted 
region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers 



60 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 11 

of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without 
a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian 
trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon- 
ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary 
War, and who is ever and anon seen by the countr}^ folk 
hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of 
the mnd. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but 
extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the 
vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain 
of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have 
been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts 
concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper 
having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth 
to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that ^" 
the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along 
the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being 
belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard be- 
fore daybieak. 

Such is the general purport of this legendary supersti- 
tion, which has furnished materials for many a wild story 
in that region of shadows ; and the spectre is known at all 
the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horse- 
man of Sleepy Hollow. 

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have *<> 
mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the 
valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who re- 
sides there for a time. However wide awake they may have 
been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, 
in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, 
and begin to grow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see 
apparitions. 

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud ; for 
it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there 
embosomed in the great State of New York, that population, »" 
manners, and customs remain fixed, while the great torrent 



12 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

of migration and improvement, which is making such in- 
cessant changes in other parts of this restless country, 
sweeps by them unobserved. They are hke those httle 
nooks of still water, which border a rapid stream, where 
we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, 
or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed' by 
the rush of the passing current. Though many years have 
elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, 

"*• yet I question whether I should not still find the same tiees 
and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom. 
In this by-place of nature there abode, in a i emote period 
of American history, that is to say, some thirty years since, 
a worthy mght of the name of Ichabod Crane, who so- 
journed, or, as he expressed it, 'Harried," in Sleepy Hollow, 
for the purpose of instructing the cliildren of the vicinity. 
He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies 
the Union with pioneers foi the mind as well as for the for- 
est, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen 

^^"and country schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was 
not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceed- 
ingly lank, mth harrow shoulders, long arms and legs, 
hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might 
have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely 
hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with 
huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so 
that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle 
neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding 
along the profile of a hill on a windy cay, with his clothes 

^20 bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken 
him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, 
or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. 

His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, 
rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and 
partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most 
ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe tmsted in the 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 13 

handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shut- 
ters ; so that though a thief might get in with perfect ease, 
he would find some embarrassment in getting out, — an idea 
most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Hou- ^^° 
ten, from the mystery of an eelpot. The schoolhouse stood 
in a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot 
of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a for- 
midable birch-tree growing at one end of it. From hence 
the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their 
lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the 
hmn of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the au- 
thoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or 
command ; or, perad venture, by the appalling sound of the 
birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery "" 
path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious 
man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the 
rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's scholars cer- 
tainly were not spoiled. 

I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one 
of those cruel potentates of the school who joy in the smart 
of their subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice 
with discrimination rather than severity ; taking the bur- 
den off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of 
the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the ^^^ 
least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; 
but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double 
portion on some little tough, 'wrong-headed, broad-skirted 
Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and 
sullen beneath the birch. All this he called ''doing his 
duty by their parents;" and he never inflicted a chastise- 
ment without following it by the assurance, so consolatory 
to the smarting urchin, that "he would remember it and 
thank him for it the longest day he had to live." 

When school hours were over, he was even the compan- 1^" 
ion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday 



14 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

afternoons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, 
who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives 
for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. In- 
deed, it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pu- 
pils. The revenue arising from his school was small, and 
would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with 
daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, 
had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out 

^^°his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in 
those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farm- 
ers whose children he instructed. With these he lived suc- 
cessively a week at a time, thus going the rounds of the 
neighborhood, "with all his worldly effects tied up in a cot- 
ton, handkerchief. 

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of 
his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of 
schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere 
drones, he had various ways of rendering himself both use- 

^^"ful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally 
in the lighter labors of their farms, helped to make hay, 
mended the fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows 
from pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid 
aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute sway 
with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and 
became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He found 
favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children, 
particularly the j^oungest; and like the lion bold, which 
whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would 

190 sit mth a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot 
for whole hours together. 

In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing- 
master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright 
shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It 
was a matter of no little vanity to him on Sundays, to take 
liis station in front of the chm'ch gallery, with a band of 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 15 

chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely 
carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his 
voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation ; 
and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that^**** 
church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite 
to the opposite side of the miU-poncl, - on a still Sunday 
morning, wliich are said to be legitimately descended 
from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little 
makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is commonly 
denominated "by hook and by crook," the worthy peda- 
gogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all 
who understood nothing of the labor of headwork, to have 
a wonderfully easy life of it. 

The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance ^^° 
in the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being con- 
sidered a kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of vastly 
superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country 
swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the parson. 
His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little 
stir at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a 
supernumerary chsh of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradven- 
ture, the parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters, 
therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the coun- 
try damsels. How he would figure among them in the ^^° 
churchyard, between services on Sundays! gathering 
grapes for them from the wild vines that overran the sm^- 
rounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the epi- 
taphs on the tombstones ; or sauntering, with a whole bevy 
of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill-pond; while 
the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, 
envying his superior elegance and address. 

From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travel- 
ing gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from 
house to house, so that his appearance was always greeted ^^*^ 
with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the 



16 THE CKANE CLASSICS. 

women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several 
books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton 
Mather's "History of New England Witchcraft," in which, 
by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. 

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness 
and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvelous, and 
his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; 
and both had been increased by his residence in this spell- 

^**' bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for 
his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his 
school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself 
on the rich bed of clover bordering the little brook thait 
whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old 
Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of evening 
made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, 
as he wended his way by swamp and stream and awful 
woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quar^ 
tered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, flut- 

^^"tered his excited imagination, — ^the moan of the whip- 
poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, 
that harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech 
owl, to the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds fright- 
ened from their roost. The fireflies, too, which sparkled 
m-ost vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled 
him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across 
his path ; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle 
came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor 
varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that 

260 j^g was struck with a witch's token. His only resource on 
such occasions, either to drown thought or drive away evil 
spirits, was to sing psalm tunes; and the good people of 
Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, 
were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal melody, "in 
linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant 
hill, or along the dusky road. 



THE LEGEND OF &LEEPY HOLLOW. 17 

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long 
winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat 
spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and sput- 
tering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous"" 
tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted 
brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and 
particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hes- 
sian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He 
would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, 
and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds 
in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecti- 
cut ; and would frighten them woefully with speculations 
upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming 
fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that^^° 
they were half the time topsy-turvy! 

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cud- 
dling in the chimney-corner of a chamber that was all of 
a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of 
course, no spectre dared to show its face, it was dearly 
purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk home- 
wards. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his 
path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! 
With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of 
hght streaming across the waste fields from some distant ^^o 
window! How often was he appalled by some shrub 
covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his 
very path ! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at 
the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his 
feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should 
behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! 
and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by 
some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea 
that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly 
scourings ! ' ^"^ 

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phan- 



18 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

toms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he 
had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than 
once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely peram- 
bulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and 
he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the 
Devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by 
a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than 
ghosts, gobUns, and the whole race of witches put together, 

31^ and that was — a woman. 
• Among the musical disciples who assembled, one even- 
ing in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, 
was Katrina Yan Tassel, the daughter and only child of a 
substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of 
fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting 
and rosy-cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and uni- 
versally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast 
expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as 
might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture 

^^^of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off 
her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, 
which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from 
Saardam ; the tempting stomacher of the olden time, and 
withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the pret- 
tiest foot and ankle in the country round. 

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the 
sex; and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting a 
morsel soon found favor in his eyes, more especially after 
he had visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus 

^^" Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, 
liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either 
his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own 
farm; but within those everything was snug, happy and 
well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but 
not proud of it ; and piqued himself upon the hearty abun- 
dance, rather than in the style in which he lived. His 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 



19 



stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one 
of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch 
farmers are so fond of nesthng. A great elm tree spread 
its broad branches over it, at the foot of wMch bubbled up ''' 
a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well 
formed of a barrel ; and then stole sparkling away through 
the grass, to a neighboring brook, that babbled along among 
alders and dwarf willows. Hard by the farmhouse was a 
vast barn, that might have served for a church; every 
window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with 
the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding 
within it from morning to night; swallows and martins 
skimmed twittering about the eaves ; and rows of pigeons, 
some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, ^'^ 
some with their heads under their wings or buried in their 
bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about 
their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek 
unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abun- 
dance of their pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then, 
troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately 
squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, 
convoying whole fleets of ducks ; regiments of turkeys were 
gobbling through the farmyard, and Guinea fowls fretting 
about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, ^'^^ 
discontented cry. Before the barn door strutted the gal- 
lant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior and a fine 
gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing in 
the pride and gladness of his heart,— sometimes tearing up 
the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever- 
hungry family of wives and children to enjoy the rich mor- 
sel which he had chscovered. 

The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this 
sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his de- 
vouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting- " 
pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple 



20 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

in his mouth ; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a com- 
fortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the 
geese were swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks 
pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a 
decent competency of onion sauce. In the porkers he saw 
carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relish- 
ing ham ; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up 
with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a neck- 

3^^ lace of savory sausages ; and even bright chanticleer him- 
self lay sprawling on his back, in a side dish, mth uplifted 
claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit 
disdained to ask while living. 

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he 
rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the 
rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, 
and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit, which sur- 
rounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart 
yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, 

390 and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they 
might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested 
in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the 
wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, 
and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole 
family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded 
with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling 
beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, 
with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennes- 
see, — or the Lord knows where! 

400 When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart 
was complete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses, 
with high-ridged but lowly sloping roofs, built in the style 
handed down from the first Dutch settlers; the low pro- 
jecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of 
being closed up in bad weather. Under tliis were hung 
flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 21 

fishing in the neighboring river. Benches were built along 
the sides for summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at 
one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various uses 
to which this important porch might be devoted. From"« 
this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which 
formed the center of the mansion, and the place of usual 
residence. Here rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a 
long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge 
bag of wool, ready to be spun ; in another, a quantity of 
linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, 
and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay fes- 
toons along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers ; 
and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor, 
where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables ^^o 
shone hke mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying 
shovel and tongs, ghstened from their covert of asparagus 
tops ; mock-oranges and conch-shells decorated the mantel- 
piece ; strings of various-colored birds' eggs were suspended 
above it; a great ostrich egg was hung from the center of 
the roam, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, dis- 
played immense treasures of old silver and well-mended 
china. 

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these re- 
gions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and ^^^ 
his only study was how to gain the affections of the peerless 
daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise, however, he 
had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a 
knight-errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, 
enchanters, fiery dragons, and such hke easily conquered 
adversaries, to contend with; and had to make his way 
merely through gates of iron and brass, and walls of ada- 
mant to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was 
confined ; all which he achieved as easily as a man would 
carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie; and then*^" 
the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Icha- 



22 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

bod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a 
country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and ca- 
prices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and 
impediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearful 
adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic 
admirers, who beset every portal to her heart, keeping a 
watchful and angry eye. upon each other, but ready to fly 
out in the common cause against any new competitor. 

450 Among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, 
roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to 
the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the 
country round, which rang with his feats of strength and 
hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, 
with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant 
countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. 
From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he 
had received the nickname of Brom Bones, by which he 
was universally known. He was famed for great knowl- 

^^^ edge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horse- 
back as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock- 
fights; and, with the ascendancy wliich bodily strength 
always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, 
setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an 
air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was 
always ready for either a fight or a frohc; but had more 
mischief than ill-will in Ms composition; and mth all his 
overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of wag- 
gish good-humor at bottom. He had three or four boon 

470 companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the 
head of whom he scoured the country, attending every 
scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold 
weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted 
\^dth a flaunting fox's tail ; and when the folks at a country 
gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, 
whisldng about among a squad of hard riders, they always 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 23 

stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard 
dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop 
and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks ; and the old dames 
startled out of theii sleep, would listen for a moment till **" 
the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, 
there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors 
looked upon him with a mixture of awe, adnfiration, and 
good- will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic brawl 
occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and 
warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. 

This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the 
blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, 
and though liis amorous toyings were something like the 
gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it* was^''" 
whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. 
Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates 
to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours ; 
insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tas- 
sel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that his master 
was courting, or, as it is termed, "sparking," within, all 
other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into 
other quarters. 

Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane 
had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man ^"•^ 
than he v/ould have shrunk from the competition, and a 
wiser man would have despaired. He had, however, a 
happy mixture of pliability and perse"\''erance in his nature ; 
he was in form and spirit like a supple-jack — yielding, but 
tough; though he bent, he never broke; and though he 
bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it 
was away — jerk! — he was as erect, and carried his head as 
high as ever. 

To have taken the field openly against his rival would 
have been madness ; for he was not a man to be thwarted ^^" 
in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. 



520 



24 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently 
insinuating manner. Under cover of his character of sing- 
ing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse ; not 
that he had anything to apprehend fiom the meddlesome 
interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block 
in the path of lovers. Bait Van Tassel was an easy, indul- 
gent soul ; he loved his daughter better even than his pipe, 
and, Hke a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her 
have her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, 
had enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and man- 
age her poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and 
geese are fooUsh things, and must be looked after, but girls 
can take care of themselves. Thus, while the busy dame 
bustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one 
end of the piazza, honest Bait would sit smoking his even- 
ing pipe at the other, watching the achievements of a little 
wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each hand, 
was most vahantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of 

53" the barn. In the mean time, Ichabod would carry on his 
suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the 
great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so 
favorable to the lover's eloquence. 

I profess not to know how wojuen's hearts are wooed 
and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle 
and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable 
point, or door of access ; while others have a thousand ave- 
nues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. 
It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still 

540 greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the 
latter, for a man must battle for his fortress at every door 
and window. He who wins a thousand common hearts is 
therefore entitled to some renown ; but he who keeps un- 
disputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. 
Certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable 
Brom Bones ; and from the moment Ichabod Crane made 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 25 

his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined : 
his horse was no longer seen tied to the pahngs on Sunday 
nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and 
the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow. 550 

Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in liis nature, 
would fain have carried matters to open warfare and have • 
settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode 
of those most concise and simple reasoners, the knights- 
errant of yore, — by single combat; but Ichabod was too 
conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter 
the Hsts against him; he had overheard a boast of Bones, 
that he would ''double the schoolmaster up, and lay him 
on a shelf of his own schoolhouse ; " and he was too wary to 
give him an opportunity. There was something extremely ^^^ 
provoking in this obstinately pacific system ; it left Brom 
no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery 
in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes 
upon his rival. Ichabod became the object of whimsical 
persecution to Bones and his gang of rough riders. They 
harried his hitherto peaceful domains, smoked out his sing- 
ing-school by stopping up the chimney, broke into the 
schoolhouse at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings 
of withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy- 
tmwy, so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the "^ 
witches in the coimtry held their meetings there. But 
what was still more annoying, Brom took all opportunities 
of turning him into ricUcule in presence of his mistress, 
and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the 
most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ich- 
abod's, to instruct her in psalmodj^ 

In this way matters went on for some time, ^\ithout 
producing any material effect on the relative situations ' 
of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, 
Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool ^^"^ 
from whence he usually watched all the concerns of liis 



26 THE CEANB CLASSICS. 

little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that 
sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on 
three nails behind the throne, a constant terror to evil doers ; 
while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contra- 
band articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon the 
persons of idle urchins, such as half -munched apples, pop- 
guns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant 
little paper game-cocks. Apparently there had been some 

59" appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars 
were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering 
behind them with one eye kept upon the master ; and a kind 
of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the schoolroom. 
It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro 
in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment 
of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back 
of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with 
a rope by way of halter. He came clattering up. to the 
school-door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a 

^''"merry-making or ''quilting-frolic," to be held that evening 
at Mynheer Van Tassel's ; and having delivered his message 
with that air of importance and effort at fine language which 
a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, 
he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away 
up the Hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his 
mission. 

All was now bustle and hubbub in. the late quiet school- 
room. The scholars were hurried through their lessons 
without stopping at trifles ; those who were nimble skipped 

"1" over half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a 
smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their 
speed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung 
aside without being put away on the shelves, inkstands 
were overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole 
school was turned loose an hour before the usual time, 
bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 27 

racketing about the green in joy at their early emancipa- 
tion. 

The gallant Ichabocl now spent at least an extra half 
hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and*^ 
indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by 
a bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in the school- 
house. That he might make his appearance before his 
mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse 
from the farmer mth whom he was domiciliated, a choleric 
old Dutchman of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus 
gallantly mounted, issued forth hke a knight-errant in 
quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true - 
spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks 
and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he ^^^ 
bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived 
almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and 
shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his 
rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; 
one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, 
but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still 
he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge 
from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, 
been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Rip- 
per, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very prob-''*" 
ably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and 
broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking 
devil in him than in any young filly in the country. 

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode 
with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to 
the pommel of the saddle ; his sharp elbows stuck out like 
grasshoppers' ; he carried his whip perpendiculaily in his 
hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion 
of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. 
A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his ^^^ 
scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of 



28 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

his black coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail. Such 
was the appearance of Ichabocl and his steed as they sham- 
bled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was alto- 
gether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in 
broad dayhght. 

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky 
was cleai- and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden 
livery which we always associate with the idea of abun- 

®®" dance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yel- 
low, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped 
by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scar- 
let. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their ap- 
pearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might 
be heard from the gioves of beech and hickory-nuts, and 
the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the 
neighboring stubble field. 

The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. 
In -the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping 

^™and frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capri- 
cious from the very profusion and variety around them. 
There was the honest cockrobin, the favorite game of strip- 
ling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note ; and the twit- 
tering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden- 
winged woodpecker, with his crimson crest, his broad black 
gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar-bird, with 
its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little monteiro 
cap of feathers ; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in 
his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming 

*'***and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and 
pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the 
grove. 

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open 
to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with 
delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he 
beheld vast stores of apples : some hanging in oppressive 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 29 

opulence on the' trees ; some gathered into baskets and 
barrels for the market ; others heaped up in rich piles for 
the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of In- 
dian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy*'*'*' 
coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty- 
pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them 
turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving 
ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon 
he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields breathing the odor 
of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations 
stole over his mind of dainty slap-jacks, well buttered, 
and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little 
dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel. 

Thus feecUng his mind with many sweet thoughts ancl^**^ 
''sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of 
a range of hihs which look out upon some of the goodliest ■ 
scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled 
his broad disk down in the west. The wide bosom of the 
Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here 
and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the 
blue shadow of the distant mountain. A few amber clouds 
floated in the sky, without a breath of. air to move them. 
The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually 
into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue ™ 
of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered oh the woody 
crests of the precipices that overhung some parts of the 
river, giving greater depth to the dark gray and purple 
of their rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in the distance, 
dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging use- 
lessly against the mast; and as the reflection of the sky 
gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel 
was suspended in the air. 

It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle 
of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the "" 
pride and flower of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a 



30 THE CRAXE CLASSICS. 

spare leathern-faced race, in homespim coats and breeches, 
blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. 
Their brisk, -withered httle dames, in close crimped caps, 
long-waisted short-go^^'ns, homespun petticoats, with scis- 
sors and pin-cusliions, and gay cahco pockets hanging on 
the outside. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their 
mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or per- 
haps a wliite frock, gave symptoms of city innovation. 

""The sons, in short square-skirted coats, \\ith rows of stu- 
pendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in 
the fasliion of the times, especially if the}^ could procme 
an eelskin for the pm'pose, it being esteemed tlii'oughout 
the country as a potent nomisher and strengthener of the 
hair. 

Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having 
come to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, a 
creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which 
no one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted 

'*"f-or preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of 
tricks wliich kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for 
he held a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad 
of spirit. 

Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms 
that burst upon the em-aptured gaze of my hero, as he en- 
tered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those 
of the he\j of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display 
of red and white ; but the ample charms of a genuine Dutch 
countr}^ tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such 

^50 heaped up platters of cakes of various and almost indescrib- 
able kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housemves! 
There was the dought}^ doughnut, the tender olykoek, and 
the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short 
cakes, ginger cakes, and honey cakes, and the whole fam- 
ilj of cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach 
pies, and pumpkin pies ; besides slices of ham and smoked 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 31 

beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, 
and peaches, and pears, and quinces ; not to mention broiled 
shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk 
and cream, all mingled higgledly-piggledy, pretty much as ^eo 
I have enumerated them, with the motherly teapot sending 
up its clouds of vapor from the midst — Heaven bless the 
mark! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as 
it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. Hap- 
pily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his his- 
torian, but did ample justice to every dainty. 

He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated 
in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and 
whose spirits rose with eating, as some men's do with drink. 
He could not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as "o 
he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that he might 
one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable 
luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon he 'd 
turn his back upon the old school-house ; snap his fingers 
in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and eveiy other niggardly 
patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that 
should dare to call him comrade! 

Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests 
with a face dilated with content and good-humor, round and 
jolly as the har\Tst moon. His hospitable attentions were ^so 
brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of the 
hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing 
invitation to "fall to, and help themselves." 

And now the sound of music from the common room, or 
hall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an old 
gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of 
the neighborhood for more than half a centuiy. His in- 
strument was as old and battered as himself. The greater 
part of the time he scraped on two or three strings, accom- 
panying every movement of the bow with a motion of the 790 



32 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

head ; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping with his 
foot whenever a fresh couple were to start. 

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon 
his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was 
idle ; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, 
and clattering about the room, you would have thought 
St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, was fig- 
uring before you in person. He was the admiration of all 
the negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, 

^°*' from the farm and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyr- 
amid of shining black faces at eveiy door and window; 
gazing with delight at the scene ; rolling their white eye- 
balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. 
How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated 
and joyous? the lady of his heart was his partner in the 
dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his arnorous 
oglings ; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and 
jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner. 
When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to 

810 a knot of the sager folks, who, with Old Van Tassel, sat 
smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former 
times, and drawing out long stories about the war. 

This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, 
was one of those highly favored places which abound with 
chronicle and great men. The British and American line 
had run near it during the war; it had, therefore, been the 
scene of marauding and infested with refugees, cow-boys, 
and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had 
elapsed to enable each story-teller to dress up his tale with 

820 a little becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his 
recollection, to make himself the hero of every exploit. 

There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue- 
bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate 
with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, 
only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. And there 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 33 

was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich 
a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of 
White Plains, being an excellent master of defence, parried 
^ musket-ball with a small sword, insomuch that he abso- 
lutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the hilt ; ^so 
in proof of which he was ready at any time to show the 
sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several more 
that had been equally great in the field, not one of whom 
but was persuaded that he had a considerable hand in 
bringing the war to a happy termination. 

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and ap- 
paritions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in leg- 
endaiy treasures of the kind. Local tales and supersti- 
tions thrive best in these sheltered, long-settled retreats; 
but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng ^^o 
that forms the population of most of our country places. 
Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of 
our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their 
first nap and turn themselves in their graves, before their 
surviving friends have travelled away from the neighbor- 
hood ; so that when they turn out at night to walk their 
rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This 
is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts ex- 
cept in our long-established Dutch communities. 

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of super- ^^o 
natural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the 
vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the 
veiy air that blew from that haunted region ; it breathed 
forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all 
the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were pres- 
ent at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their 
wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales were told 
about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings 
heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate 
Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the neighbor- seo 



34 THE CEANE CLASSICS. 

hood. Some mention was made also of the woman in white, 
that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often 
heard to shiiek on \\inter nights before a storm, having 
perished there in the snow. The chief part of the stories, 
however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, 
the Headless Horseman, who had been heard several times 
of late, 13a trolling the country; and, it was said, tethered 
his horse nightly among the graves in the churchyard. 
The sequestered situation of this church seems always to 

^^^ have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands 
on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from 
among which its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly 
forth, like Christian purity beaming thi'ough the shades of 
retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver 
sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps 
may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look 
upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to 
sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the 
dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church ex- 

8*^ tends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook 
among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a 
deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was 
formerly tlu'o-^n a wooden bridge ; the road that led to it, 
and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded b}^ overhanging 
trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; 
but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. Such w^as one 
of the favorite haunts of the Headless Horseman, and the 
place where he was most frequently encountered. The tale 
was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in 

s**" ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his foray 
into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him ; 
how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and 
swamp, until they reached the bridge ; when the Horseman 
suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 35 

the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap 
of thunder. 

This story was immediately matched by a thrice maiwel- 
lous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the Gal- 
loping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed th. t on 
returning one night from the neighboring village of Sing 900 
Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; 
that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, 
and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin 
horse all hollow, but just as they came to the church bridge, 
the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire. 

All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which 
men talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners 
only now and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare 
of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid 
them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable author, 910 
Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that 
had taken place in his native State of Connecticut, and 
fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly walks about 
Sleepy Hollow. 

The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers 
gathered together their families in their wagons, and were 
heard for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and 
over the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted on 
pillions behind their favorite swains, and their light-hearted 
laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along 920 
the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until 
they gradually died away,— and the late scene of noise and 
frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod only lingered 
behind, according to the custom of country lovers, to have 
a tete-a-tete with the heiress ; fully convinced that he was 
now on the high road to success. AVhat passed at this in- 
ter^dew I wiU not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know. 
Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for 
he certainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, with 



36 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

^^^an air quite desolate and chapfallen. Oh, these women! 
these women! Could that girl have been playing off any 
of her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of the 
poor pedagogue all a. mere sham to secure her conquest of 
his rival ? Heaven only knows, not I ! Let it suffice to say, 
Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking 
a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart. Without look- 
ing to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth, 
on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the 
stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his 

^^° steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in 
which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of 
corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover. 

It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, 
heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travels home- 
wards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above 
Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the 
afternoon. The hour was as cUsmal as himself. Far below 
him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste 
of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, rid- 

950 jj^g quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of 
midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch-dog 
from the opposite shore of tlie Hudson ; but it was so vague 
and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this 
faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long- 
drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would 
sound far, far off, from some farmhouse away among the 
hills — but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs 
. of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy 
chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bull 

96ofj.Qg fj.Qj^-^ ^ neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfort- 
ably, and turning suddenly in his bed. 

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard 
in the afternoon now came crowding upon his lecollection. 
The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 37 

sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid 
theiii from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dis- 
mal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where 
many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In 
the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which 
towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neigh- "" 
borhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were 
gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for or- 
dinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising 
again into the air. It was connected with the tragical 
story of the unfortunate Andre, who had been taken pris- 
oner hard by ; and was universally known by the nam.e of 
Major Andre's tree. The common people regarded it with 
a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sym- 
pathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly 
from the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations, ^**' 
told concerning it. 

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to 
whistle ; he thought his whistle was answered ; it was but 
a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he 
approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something 
white, hanging in the midst of the tree; he paused, and 
ceased whistling ; but, on looking more narrowly, perceived 
that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by 
lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he 
heard a groan — his teeth chattered, and his knees smote ^''*' 
against the saddle : it was but" the rubbing of one huge 
bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the 
breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay 
before him. 

About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook 
crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly- wooded 
glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough 
logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. 
On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood. 



38' THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

1000 g^ group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild 
grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass 
this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this identical 
spot that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and under 
the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy 
yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since 
been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feel- 
ings of the school-boy who has to pass it alone after dark. 
As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump ; 
he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse 

^"^ half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash 
briskly across the bridge ; but instead of starting forward 
the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran 
broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears in- 
creased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, 
and kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all in 
vain ; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge 
to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles 
and alder-bushes. The school-master now bestowed both 
whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, 

1020 ^Y^Q dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a 
stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had 
nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this 
moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the 
sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove 
on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, mis- 
shapen, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered 
up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring 
upon the traveller. 

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head 

^^^^ with terror. What was to be done ? , To turn and fly was 
now too late : and besides, what chance was there of escap- 
ing ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the 
wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of 
courage, he demanded in stammering accents, ''Who are 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 39 

you?" He received no reply. He repeated his' demand 
in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. 
Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gun- 
powder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary 
fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of 
alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound ^o*" 
stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night 
was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might 
now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a 
horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black 
horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation 
or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging 
along on the bhnd side of old Gunpowder, who had now got 
over his fright and waywardness. 

Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight 
companion, ,and bethought himself of the adventure of i^^" 
Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened 
his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, 
however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod 
pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind, — 
the other did the same. His heart began to sink within 
him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his 
parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he 
could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody 
and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was 
mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted ^'^^^ 
for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the fig- 
ure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic 
in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck 
on perceiving that he was headless ! but his horror was still 
more increased on observing that the head, which should 
have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the 
pommel of his saddle ! His terror rose to desperation ; he 
rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hop- 
ing by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip ; 



40 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

"^"but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, 
they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and 
sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabocl's flimsy garments 
fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away 
over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight. 

They had now reached the road which turns ofi" to Sleepy 
Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a 
demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, 
and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This road 
leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a 

^*'^° quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in gob- 
lin story ; and just beyond swells the green knoll on which 
stands the whitewashed church. 

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskihful 
rider an apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he 
had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the sad- 
dle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. He 
seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, 
but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping 
old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to 

^^^° the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pur- 
suer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath 
passed across his mind, — for it was his Sunday saddle ; but 
this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on 
his haunches ; and (unskillful rider that he was !) he had 
much ado to maintain his seat ; sometimes shpping on one 
side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the 
high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he 
verily feared would cleave him asunder. 

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes 

ii<>Hhat the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflec- 
tion of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that 
he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly 
glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place 
where Brom Bones' ghostly competitor had disappeared. 



THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 41 

"If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, ''I am 
safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and 
blowing close behind him ; he even fancied that he felt his 
hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old 
Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over 
the resounding planks ; he gained the opposite side ; and ^^^^ 
now Ichabocl cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should 
vanish according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. 
Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in 
the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeav- 
ored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encoun- 
tered his cranium mth a tremendous crash, — he was 
tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black 
steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlmnd. 

The next morning the old horse was found without his 
saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping ^^^^ 
the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his 
appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no Icha- 
bod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled 
idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. 
Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about 
the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was 
set on foot, and after clihgent investigation they came upon 
his- traces. In one part of the road leading to the church 
was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of 
horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at ^^^° 
furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on 
the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran 
deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Icha- 
bod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin. 

The brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster 
was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, as executor 
of his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his 
worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts and a half; 
two stocks for the neck ; a pair or two of worsted stockings ; 



42 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

"*** an old pair of corduroy small-clothes ; a rusty razor ; a book 
of psalm tunes full of dog's-ears ; and a broken pitch-pipe. 
As to the books and furniture of the schoolhouse, they be- 
longed to the community, excepting Cotton Mather's His- 
tory of Witchcraft, a New England Almanac, and a book 
of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet 
of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless 
attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress 
of Van Tassel. These magic books and the poetic scrawl 
were forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van Rip- 

^^^"per; who, from that time forward, determined to send his 
children no more to school ; observing that he never knew 
any good come of this same reading and writing. What- 
ever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had re- 
ceived his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must 
have had about his person at the time of his disappearance. 
The mysterious event caused much speculation at the 
church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gos- 
sips were collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at 
the spot where the hat and pumpldn had been found. The 

^^^° stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of others 
were called to mind; and when they had diligently con- 
sidered them all, and compared them with the symptoms 
of the present case, they shook their heads, and came to 
the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the 
Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's 
debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him ; the 
school was removed to a different quarter of the Hollow, 
and another pedagogue reigned in his stead. 

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New 

1170 York on a visit several years after, and from whom this 
account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought 
home the intelhgence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; 
that he had left the neighborhood partly through fear of 
the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortifica- 



POSTSCKIPT. 43 

tion at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; 
that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the 
country ; had kept school and studied law at the same time ; 
had been admitted to the bar; turned politician ; election- 
eered; written for the newspapers; and finally had been 
made a justice of the ten-pound court. Brom Bones, too, "^^ 
who, shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted the 
blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed 
to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod 
was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the 
mention of the pumpkin; which led some to suspect that 
he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell. 

The old country wives, however, who are the best judges 
of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was 
spirited away by supernatural means ; and it is a favorite 
story often told about the neighborhood round the winter "8" 
evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object 
of superstitious awe ; and that may be the reason why the 
road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the 
church by the border of the mill-pond. The schoolhouse 
being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported to be 
haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue ; and 
the plough-boy, loitering homeward of a still summer even- 
ing, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a 
melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of 
Sleepy Hollow, 1200 

POSTSCRIPT. 

FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OP MR. KNICKERBOCKER. 

The preceding tale is given almost in the precise words 
in which I heard it related at a Corporation meeting of the 
ancient city of the Manhattoes, at which were present many 
of its sagest and most illustrious burghers. The narrator 
was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly old fellow in pepper- 



44 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

and-salt clothes, with a sadly humorous face ; and one 
whom I strongly suspected of being poor, — ^he made such 
efforts to be entertaining. When his story was concluded 
there was much laughter and approbation, particularly 
from two "or three deputy aldermen, who had been asleep 
the greater part of the time. There was, however, one tall, 
dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows, who 
maintained a grave and rather severe face throughout ; now 
and then folding his arms, inclining his head, and looking 
down upon the floor, as if turning a doubt over in his mind. 
He was one of your wary men, who never laugh but upon 
good grounds, — when they have reason and the law on their 
side. When the mirth of the rest of the company had sub- 
sided, and silence was restored, he leaned one arm on the 
elbow of his chair, and sticking the other akimbo, de- 
manded, with a slight but exceedingly sage motion of the 
head, and contraction of the brow, what was the moral of 
the story, and what it went to prove. 

The story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to 
his lips, as a refreshment after his toils, paused for a mo- 
ment, looked at his inquirer with an air of infinite deference, 
and, lowering the glass slowly to the table, observed that 
the story w^as intended most logically to prove : — 

"That there is no situation in life but has its advantages 
and pleasures, provided we will but take a joke as we find 

"That, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers 
is likely to have rough riding of it ; 

"Ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the hand 
of a Dutch heiress is a certain step to high preferment in 
the state." 

The cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer 
after this explanation, being sorely puzzled by the rati- 
ocination of the syllogism ; while, me thought, the one in 
pepper-and-salt eyed him with something of a triumphant 



POSTSCRIPT. 45 

leer. At length he observed that all this was very well, 
but still he thought the stoiy a little on the extravagant ; 
there were one or two points on which he had his doubts. 

''Faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "as to that matter, 
I don't believe one half of it myself." D. K. 



46 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 

By Woden, God of Saxons, 

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday. 

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 

Unto thylke day in which I creep into 

My sepulchre. Cartright. 

The following tale was found among the papers of the 
late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New 
York, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the 
province, and the manners of the descendants from its 
primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did 
not lie so much among books as among men ; for the for- 
mer are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics ; whereas 
he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich 
in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history. When- 
ever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, 
snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse under a spread- 
ing sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume 
of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book-worm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of the 
province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which 
he published some years since. There have been various 
opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to 
tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its 
chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was 
a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since 
been completely established ; and it is now admitted into 



EIP VAN WINKLE. 47 

all historical collections, as a book of unquestionable au- 
thority. 

^ The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of 
his work, and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do 
much harm to his memory to say that his time might have 
been much better employed in weightier labors. He, how- 
ever, was apt to ride his hobby his own way ; and though 
it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of 
his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for 
whom he felt the truest deference and affection; yet his 
errors and follies are remembered "more in sorrow than in 
anger," and it begins to be suspected that he never intended 
to injure or offend. But however his memory may be ap- 
preciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folk, whose 
good opinion is worth having ; particularly by certain bis- 
cuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his like- 
ness on their new-year cakes ; and have thus given him a 
chance for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped 
on a Waterloo Medal, or a Queen Anne's Farthing. 



Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must re- 
member the Kaatskill Mountains.- They are a dismem- 
bered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen 
away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, 
and lording it over the surrounding country. Every 
change of season, every change of weather, indeed, every 
hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues 
and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by 
all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. 
When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in 
blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear 
evening sky; but sometimes when the rest of the landscape 
is cloudless they will gather a hood of gray vapors about 



48 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, 
will glow and light up like a crown of glory. 

At the foot of these . faiiy mountains, the voyager may 
have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, 
whose shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the 
blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of 
the nearer landscape . It is a little vihage of great antiquity, 
having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the 
early time of the province, just about the beginning of the 
government of the good Peter Stuyvesant, (may he rest in 
peace!) and there were some of the houses of the original 
settlers standing within a few years, built of small yellow 
bricks brought from Holland, having latticed windows and 
gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks. 

In that same village, and in one of these very houses 
(which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and 
weather-beaten), there lived many years since, while the 
country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, 
good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He 
was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gal- 
lantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and ac- 
companied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inher- 
ited, however, but little of the martial character of his 
ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple, good- 
natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an 
obedient hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter cir- 
cumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which 
gained him such universah popularity ; for those men are 
most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who 
are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers, 
doubtess, are rendered pliant and maheable in the fiery 
furnace of domestic tribulation; and a curtain lecture is 
w^orth all the sermons in the world for teaching the virtues 
of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife may, 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 49 

therefore, in some respects be considered a tolerable bless- 
ing, and if so, Rip Van Winlde was thrice blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the ^° 
good wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable 
sex, took his part in all family squabbles ; and never failed, 
whenever they talked those matters over in their evening 
gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The 
children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever 
he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their 
playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, 
and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. 
Whenever he went dodging about the village, he was sur- 
rounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clamber- lo" 
ing on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with 
impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout 
the neighborhood. 

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable 
aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be 
from the want of assiduity or perseverance ; for he would 
sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's 
lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even though he 
should not be encouraged by a single nibble. He would • 
carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, "o 
trudging through the, woods and swamps, and up hill and 
down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. He 
would never refuse to assist a neighbor, even in the roughest 
toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husk- 
ing Indian corn, or building stone-fences; the women of 
the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands, 
and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands 
would not do for them. In a word. Rip was ready to attend 
to anybody's business but his own ; but as to doing family 
duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible, ^^o 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm ; 
it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole 



50 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

country; everything about it went wrong, and would go 
wrong, in spite of him. His fences were continually fall- 
ing to pieces ; his cow would either go astray or get among 
the cabbages ; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields 
than anywhere else ; the rain always made a point of set- 
ting in just as he had some out-door work to do ; so that 
though his patrimonial estate had dwindled away under 

130 his management, acre by acre, until there was little more 
left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it 
was the worst-conditioned farm in the neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they be- 
longed to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in 
his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the 
old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping 
like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his 
father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to 
hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad 

140 weather. 

Rip Van Winlde, however, was one of those happy mor- 
tals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world 
easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with 
least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny 
than work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have 
whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife 
kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his 
carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. 
Morning, noon, and night her tongue was incessantly going, 

150 and everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent 
of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying 
to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent use, had 
grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his 
head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, 
always provoked a fresh volley from his wife; so that he 
was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 51 

the house — the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen- 
pecked husband. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was 
as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle ^®° 
regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked 
upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's 
going so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit be- 
fitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous an animal 
as ever scoured the woods — but what courage can withstand 
the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's 
tongue ? The moment. Wolf entered the house his crest fell, 
his tail drooped to the ground, or curled between his legs, 
he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a side- 
long glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish "" 
of a broomstick or ladle he would fly to the door with yelp- 
ing precipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as 
years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper neVer mel- 
lows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool 
that grows keen,er with constant use. For a long while he 
used to console himself, when driven from home, by fre- . 
quenting a Idnd of perpetual club of the sages, philoso- 
phers, and other idle personages of the village; which 
held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated i*" 
by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the Third. 
Here they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy 
summer's day, talking listlessly over village gossip, or 
telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. But it would 
have been worth any statesman's money to have heard 
the profound discussions that sometimes took place, when 
by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from 
some passing traveller. How solemnly they would listen 
to the contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, 
the school-master, a dapper learned little man, who was i^" 
not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the die- 



52 THE CKANE CLASSICS. 

tionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon 
public events some months after they had taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
b)^ Nicholas \''edder, a patriarch of the \dllage, and land- 
lord of the inn, at the door of wliich he took his seat from 
morning till* night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the 
sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the 
neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accu- 
rately as by a smi-dial. It is true he was rarely heard to 
speak, but smoked Ms pipe incessantly. His adherents, 
however (for every, great man has his adherents), per- 
fectly understood him, and knew how to gather his opin- 
ions. AATien anything that was read or related displeased 
him, he was observed to smoke liis pipe vehemently, and to 
send forth short, frequent and angry puffs; but when 
pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly 
and emit it in fight and placid clouds ; and sometimes, tak- 
ing the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor 
curl about his nose, would gravely nod liis head in token 
of perfect approbation. 

From even tliis stronghold the unlucky Rip was at 
length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly, 
break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call 
the members all to naught ; noi was that august personage, 
Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue 
of tliis terrible Adrago, who charged him outright with en- 
com'aging her husband in habits of idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and 
Ms only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm 
and clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroU 
away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat 
Mmself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of Ms 
wallet ^nth Wolf, with whom he sympatMzecl as a fellow- 
sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy 
mistress leads thee a dog's life of it ; but never mind, my 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 53 

lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand 
by thee!" Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his 
master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I verily beheve he 
reciprocated the sentiment mth all his heart. ^^^ 

_In a long ramble of the land on a fine autumnal day. 
Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest 
parts of the Kaatskill Mountains. He was after his favor- 
ite sport of squirrel shooting, and the still solitudes had 
echoed and reechoed with the reports of his gun. Panting 
and fatigued, he thi'ew himself, late in the afternoon, on a 
green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned 
the brow of a precipice. From an opening between the 
trees .he could overlook all the lower country for many a 
mile .of rich woodland. ^ He saw at a distance the lordly ^^^ 
Hudson, far, far below him, mo^dng on its silent but ma- 
jestic course, "with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the 
sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy 
bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands. 

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain 
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with 
fragments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted 
by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time 
Rip lay musing on this scene ; evening was gradually 
advancing ; the mountains began to throw their long blue ^so 
shadows over the valleys ; he saw that it would Toe dark 
long before he could reach the village, and he heaved a 
heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of 
Dame Van Winlde. 

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a 
distance, hallooing, ' ' Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! ' ' 
He looked round, but could see nothing but a crow wing- 
ing its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought 
his fancy n.ust have deceived him, and turned again to 
descend, when he heard the same cry ring through the ^eo 
still evening air: ''Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" 



. 54 THE CEANE CLASSICS. 

— at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a 
low. growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully 
down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension 
stealing over him ; he looked anxiously in the same direc- 
tion, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the 
rocks, and bending under the weight of something he 
carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human 
being in this lonely and unfrequented place ; but supposing 

""it to be some one of the neighborhood in need of has assist- 
ance, he hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach he was still moie surprised at the 
singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short, 
square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a griz- 
zled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion : 
a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist, several pair of 
breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with 
rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. 
He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of 

^**^ liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him 
with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this 
new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; 
and mutually relieving one another, they clambered up a 
narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a moimtain tor- 
rent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then heard 
long rolling peals like distant thunder, that seemed to 
issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty 
rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He 
paused for a moment, but supposing it to be the muttering 

^^"of one of those transient thunder-showers which often 
take place in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing 
through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small 
amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over 
the l)rinks of which impending trees shot their branches, so 
that you only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the 
bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 55 

his companion had labored on in silence; for though the 
former marvelled greatly what could be the object of car- 
rying a keg of liquoi up this wild moimtain, yet there was 
something strange and incomprehensible about the un- 3"' 
known, that inspired awe and checked famiUarity. 

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder 
presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was 
a company of odd-looking personages plajdng at ninepins. 
They were dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion; some 
wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in 
their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches of 
similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, 
were peculiar; one had a large beard, broad face, and small 
piggish eyes ; the face of another seemed to consist entirely ^^° 
of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, 
set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards, of 
various shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to 
be the commandei. He was a stout old gentleman, with 
a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, 
broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red 
stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. The 
whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish 
painting in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the village 
parson, which had been brought over from Holland at the ^^o 
tinje of the settlement. 

What seemed particulaily odd to Rip .was, that though 
these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they 
maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, 
and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure 
he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness 
of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever 
they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbUng 
peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, they sud- ^^^ 
denly desisted from their play, and stared at him with 



56 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

such fixed, statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, 
lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned within him, 
and his knees smote together. His companion now emp- 
tied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made 
signs to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with 
fear and trembhng; they quaffed the hquor in profound 
silence, and then returned to their game . 

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He 
even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste 
the beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of 
excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and 
was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste pro- 
voked, another; and he reiterated Ms visits to the flagon 
so often that at length Ms senses were overpowered, his 
eyes swam in Ms head, his head gradually declined, and 
he fell into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence 
he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his 
eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were hop- 
ping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle was 
wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." 
He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The 
strange man with a keg of liquor — the mountain ravine — • 
the wild retreat among the rocks — the woe-be gone party 
at 'ninepins — the flagon — "Oh! that flagon! that wicked 
flagon ! " thought Rip — ^" what excuse shall I make to Dame 
Van Winkle?" 

He looked round for his gun, but in place' of the clean, 
well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by 
him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and 
the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave 
roisters of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and, 
having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. 
Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 57 

after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and 
shouted his name, but all in vain ; the echoes repeated his 
whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's ^^° 
gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand 
his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself 
stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These 
mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, "and 
if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, 
I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With 
some difficulty he got down into the glen; he found the 
gully up which he and his companion had descended the 
preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountain 
stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to ^so 
rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, 
however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his 
toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch- 
hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild 
grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to 
tree, and spread a kind of network in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 
through the cliffs to the amphitheatre; but no traces of 
such opening remained. The rocks presented a high, im- 
penetrable wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in 390 
a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin, 
black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, 
then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called 
and whistled after his dog ; he was only answered by the 
cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in the air 
about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice ; and who, 
secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff 
at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done? the 
morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want 
of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog and gim; *"" 
he dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not do to starve 



58 THE CKANE CLASSICS. 

among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the 
rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, 
turned his steps homeward. 

As he approached the village he met a number of people, 
but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, 
for he had thought himself acquainted with every one in 
the country round. Their dress, too, was of a different 
fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They all 

^^^ stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever 
they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their 
chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced 
Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonish- 
ment, he found his beard had grown a foot long ! 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop 
of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and 
pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which 
he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he 
passed. The very village was altered ; it was larger and 

*2o more populous. There were rows of houses which he had 
never seen before, and those which had been his familiar 
liaunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the 
doors — strange faces at the windows, — everything was 
strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to doubt 
whether both he and the world around him were not be- 
witched. Surely this was his native village, which he had 
left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill Moun- 
tains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was 
eveiy hill and dale precisely as it had always been — Rip 

^3^ was sorely perplexed — "That flagon last night,'' thought 
he, ''has addled my poor head sadly!" 

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his 
own house, which he approached with silent awe, expect- 
ing every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van 
Winkle. He found the house gone to decay — the roof fal- 
len in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 59 

A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking 
about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, 
showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut 
indeed — ''My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten "" 
me!" 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. Dame Van 
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, for- 
lorn, and apparently abandoned. This desolateness over- 
came all his connubial fears — he called loudly for his wife 
and children — the lonely chambers rang for a moment with 
his voice, and then again all was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, 
the village inn — but it, too, was gone. A large, rickety 
wooden building stood in its place, with great gaping win- ^^^ 
dows, some of them broken and mended with old hats and 
petticoats, and over the door was painted, "The Union 
Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree 
that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there 
now was reared a tall naked pole, with something on the top 
that looked like a red night-cap, and from it was fluttering 
a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars and 
stripes — ^all this was strange and incomprehensible. He 
recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King 
George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful *^^ 
pipe ; but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The 
red coat was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was 
held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the head was decorated 
with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted in large 
characters. General Washington. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but 
none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people 
seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious 
tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy 
tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Ved- *'" 
der, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe. 



60 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle speeches; 
or Van Bummel, the school-master, doling forth the con- 
tents of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, 
bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, 
was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens — elec- 
tions — members of congress — ^liberty — Bunker's Hill — ^lie- 
roes of seventy-six — and other words, which were a perfect 
Babylonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his 
rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of 
women and children at his heels, soon attracted the atten- 
tion of the tavern-politicians. They crowded round him, 
eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity. The 
orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly aside, 
inquired "on which side he voted ? " Rip started in vacant 
stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him 
by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, 
"Wliether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip was 
equally at a loss to comprehend the question ; when a know- 
ing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, 
made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right 
and left with his elbows as he passed, and planting himself 
before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting 
on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it 
were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone, 
''what brought him to the election with a gun on his 
shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to 
breed a riot in the village?" — "Alas! gentlemen," cried 
Rip, somewhat dismayed, " I am a poor quiet man, a native 
of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!" 

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — ^"A 
tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with 
him!" It was with great difficulty that the self-impor- 
tant man in the cocked hat restored order; and, having 
assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 61 

the unknown culprit what he came there for, and whom he 
was seeking? The poor man humbly assured him that he 
meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some 
of his neighbors, who used to keep about the tavern. 

''Well — who are they? — name them." 

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's 
Nicholas Vedder?" 

There was silence for a little while, when an old man re- 
plied, in a thin, piping voice : "Nicholas Vedder! why, he 
is dead and gone these eighteen years ! There was a wooden 
tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about 
him, but that 's rotten and gone too.'' . 

"Wliere 's Brom Butcher?" 

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war ; 
some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point — 
others say he was drowned in a squall at the foot of An- 
tony's Nose. I don't know — ^he never came back again." 

"Where 's Van Bummel, the school-master?" 

"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, 
and is noAv in Congress." 

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in 
his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the 
world. Every answer puzzled him too, by treating of such 
enormous lapses of time, and-of matters which he could not 
understand : war — Congress — Stony Point ; he had no cour- 
age to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, 
"Does anybody here know Rip Van Winkle?" 

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three, "Oh, 
to be sure ! that 's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against 
the tree." 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, 
as he went up the mountain : apparently as lazy, and cer- 
tainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely 
confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether ' 
he was himself or another man. In the midst of his be- 



62 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

wilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he 
was, and what was his name? 

''God knows/' exclaimed he, at his wit's end ; "I 'm not 
myself — I 'm somebody else — that 's me yonder — ^no — 
that 's somebody else got into my shoes — I was myself last 
night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they 've 
changed my gun, and everything 's changed, and I 'm 
changed, and I can't tell what 's my name, or who I am!" 
550 The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, 
wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 
heads. There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, 
and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at the very 
suggestion of which the self-important man in the cocked 
hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical mo- 
ment a fresh, comely woman pressed through the throng to 
get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby 
child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to 
ciy. "Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little fool; the 
560 old man won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air 
of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train 
of recollections in his mind. "What is your name, my 
good woman?" asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier," 

"And your father's name?" 

"Ah, poor man. Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it 's 
twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, 
and never has been heard of since, — ^his dog came home 
without him ; but whether he shot himself, or was carried 
570 away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a 
little girl." 

Rip had but one question more to ask; and he put it 
a faltering voice : — 

"Where's your mother?" 

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke 
a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New England peddler." 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 63 

There was a drop of comfort at least, in this intelligence. 
The honest man could contain himself no longer. He 
caught his daughter and her child in his arms. '' I am your 
father!" cried he — "Young Rip Van Winkle once — old ^^'^ 
Rip Van Winkle now! Does nobody know poor Rip Van 
Winkle?'' 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from 
among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering 
under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough 
it is Rip Van Winkle — it is himself ! Welcome home again, 
old neighbor — Why, where have you been these twenty long 
years?" 

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years 
had been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared ^^^ 
when they heard it ; some were seen to wink at each other, 
and put their tongues in their cheeks ; and the self-impor- 
tant man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, 
had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his 
mouth, and shook his head — upon which there was a gen- 
eral shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old 
Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the 
road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, 
who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. ^°^ 
Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and 
well versed in all the wonderful events and traditions of 
the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and cor- 
roborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He 
assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from 
his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill Mountains 
had always been haunted by strange beings. That it was 
affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first dis- 
coverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there 
every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon ; being ^lo 
permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, 



64 THE CKANE CLASSICS. 

and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the great city 
called by his name. That his father had once seen them 
in their old Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in a hollow 
of the mountain ; and that he himself had heard, one sum- 
mer afternoon, the sound of their balls like distant peals of 
thunder. 

To make a long stoiy short, the company broke up, and 
returned to the more important concerns of the election. 

820 Rip's daughter took him home to live with her; she had a 
snug, well-furnished house, and a stout cheery farmer for 
a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins 
that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, 
who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, 
he was employed to work on the farm; but evinced an 
hereditary disposition to attend to anything else but his 
business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he soon 
found many of his former cronies, though all rather the 

630 worse for the wear and tear of time ; and preferred making 
friends among the rising generation, with whom he scTon 
grew into great favor. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that 
happy age when a man can be idle with impunity, he took 
his place once more on the bench at the inn door, and was 
reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and a 
chronicle of the old times ''before the war." It was some 
time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or 
could be made to comprehend the strange events that had 

640 taken place during his torpor. How that there had been 
a revolutionaiy war — that the country had thrown off the 
yoke of old England — and that, instead of being a subject 
of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen 
of the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the 
changes of states and empires made but little impression 
on him; but there was one species of despotism under 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 65 

which he had long groaned, and that was— petticoat gov- 
ernment. Happily that was at an end; he had got his 
neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out 
whenever he pleased, mthout dreading the tyranny of Dame 
Van Winkle. "Whenever her name was mentioned, how- 
ever, he shook his head, shrugged liis shoulders, and cast 
up Ms eyes, wliich might pass either for an expression of 
resignation to his fate, or joy at his clehverance. 

He used to tell liis story to eveiy stranger that anlvecl at 
Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary 
on some points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, 
owing to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled 
down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, 
woman, or child in the neighborhood but knew it by heart. 
Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and in- 
sisted that Rip had been out of liis head, and that this was 
one point on which he alw^ays remained flighty. The old 
Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it 
full credit. Even to this day they never hear a thmider- 
storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they 
say Hendrick Hudson and his crew" are at their game of 
ninepins; and it is a common wish of all henpecked hus- 
bands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their 
hands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip 
Van Winkle's flagon. 

NOTE. 

The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. 
Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor 
Frederick der Rothbart, and the Kj^pphauser mountain; the sub- 
joined note, however, which he had appended to the tale, shows 
that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity. 

"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, 
but nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of 
our old Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous 
events and appearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger 
stories than this, ia the villages along the Hudson ; all of which were 



66 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with 
Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very old 
venerable man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every 
other point, that I think no conscientious person could refuse to 
take this into the bargain ; nay, I have seen a certificate on the sub- 
ject taken before a country justice and signed with a cross, in the 
justice's own handwriting. The story therefore, is beyond the pos- 
sibility of doubt. D. K." 

POSTSCRIPT. 

% 

The following are travelling notes from a memorandum-book 
of Mr. Knickerbocker: — 

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill Mountains, have always been a region 
full of fable. The Indians considered them the abode of spirits, 
who influenced the weather, spreading sunshine or clouds over the 
landscape, and sending good or bad hunting seasons. They were 
ruled by an old squaw spirit, said to be their mother. She dwelt 
on the highest peak of the Catskills, and had charge of the doors of 
day and night to open and shut them at the proper hour. She hung 
up the new moons in the skies, and cut up the old ones into stars. 
In times of drought, if properly propitiated, she would spin light 
summer clouds out of cobwebs and morning dew, and send them off 
from the crest of the mountain, flake after flake, like flakes of carded 
cotton, to float in the air; until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, 
they would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to spring, the 
fruits to ripen, and the corn to grow an inch an hour. If displeased, 
however, she would brew up clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst 
of them like a bottle-bellied spider in the midst of its web ; and when 
these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys! 

In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of Man- 
itou or Spirit, who kept about the wildest recesses of the Catskill 
Mountains, and took a mischievous pleasure in wreaking all kinds 
of evils and vexations upon the red men. Sometimes he would as- 
sume the form of a bear, a panther, or a deer, lead the bewildered 
hunter a weary chase through tangled forest and among ragged 
rocks ; and then spring off with a loud ho ! ho ! leaving him aghast 
on the brink of a beetling precipice or raging torrent. 

The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a great 
rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and from the 
flowering vines which clamber about it, and the wild flowers which 
abound in its neighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden 
Rock. Near the foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of the solitary 



POSTSCKIPT. ' 67 

bittern, with water-snakes basking in the sun on the leaves of the 
pond-lilies which lie on the surface. This place was held in great 
awe by the Indians, insomuch that the boldest hunter would not 
pursue his game within its precincts. Once upon a time, however, 
a hunter, who had lost his way, penetrated to the Garden Rock, 
where he beheld a number of gourds placed in the crotches of trees. 
One of these he seized and made off with it, but in the hurry of his 
retreat he let it fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed 
forth, which washed him away and swept him down precipices, 
where he was dashed to pieces, and the stream made its way to the 
Hudson, and continues to flow to the present day; being the iden- 
tical stream known by the name of the Kaaters-kill. 



68 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 



CHRISTMAS. 

But is old, old, good old Christmas gone? Nothing but the hair 
of his good, gray old head and beard left? Well, I will have that, 
seeing I cannot have more of him. Hue and Cry after Christmas. 

A man might then behold 

At Christmas, in each hall . 
Good fires to curb the cold. 

And meat for great and small. 
The neighbors were friendly bidden, 

And all had welcome true. 
The poor from the gates were not chidden 

When this old cap was new. 

Old Song. 

' Nothing in England exercises a more delightful spell 
over my imagination than the lingerings of the holiday 
customs and- rural games of former times. They recall the 
pictures my fancy used to draw in the May morning of life, 
when as yet I only knew the world through books, and be-' 
lieved it to be all that poets had painted it ; and they bring 
with them the flavor of those honest days of yore, in which, 
perhaps, with equal fallacy, I am apt to think the world was 
more homebred, social, and joyous than at present. I re- 
10 gret to say that they are daily growing more and more faint, 
being gradually worn away by time, but still more obliter- 
ated by modern fashion. They resemble those picturesque 
morsels of Gothic architecture, which we see crumbling in 
various parts of the country, partly dilapidated by the 
waste of ages, and partly lost in the additions and altera- 
tions of later days. Poetiy, however, clings with cherish- 
ing fondness about the rural game and holiday revel, from 



CHRISTMAS. 69 

which it 'has derived so many of its themes — as the ivy winds 
its rich fohage about the Gothic arch and mouldering tower, 
gratefully repaying their support, by clasping together their ^o 
tottering remains, and, as it were, embalming them in ver- 
dure. 

Of all the old festivals, however, that of Christmas 
awakens the strongest and most heartfelt associations. 
There is a tone of solemn and sacred feeling that blends 
with our conviviality, and lifts the spirit to a state of hal- 
lowed and elevated enjoyment. The services of the church 
about this season are extremely tender and inspiring. They 
dwell on the beautiful story of the origin of our faith, and 
the pastoral scenes that accompanied its announcement, so 
They gradually increase in fervor and pathos during the 
season of Advent, until they break forth in full jubilee on 
the morning that brought peace and good-will to men. I do 
not know a grander effect of music on the moral feelings, 
than to hear the full choir and the pealing organ performing 
a Christmas anthem in a cathedral, and filling eveiy part 
of the vast pile with triumphant harmony. 

It is a beautiful arrangement, also, derived from days of 
yore, that this festival, which commemorates the announce- 
ment of the religion of peace and love, has been made the ^o 
season for gathering together of family connections, and 
drawing closer again those bands of kindred hearts, which 
the cares and pleasures and sorrow^s of the world are con- 
tinually operating to cast loose ; of calling back the chil- 
dren of a family, who have launched forth in life, and wan- 
dered widely asunder, once more to assemble about the 
paternal hearth, that rallying place of the affections, 
there to grow young and loving again among the endearing 
mementos of childhood. 

There is something in the verj'- season of the year that so 
gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other 
times we derive a great portion of our pleasures from the 



70 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

mere beauties of nature. Our feelings sally forth and dis- 
sipate themselves over the sunny landscape, and we '4ive 
abroad and everywhere." The song of the bird, the mur- 
mur of the stream, the breathing fragrance of spring, the soft 
voluptuousness of summer, the golden pomp of autumn ; 
earth with its mantle of refreshing green, and heaven with 
its deep delicious blue and its cloudy magnificence, all fill 

^" us with mute but exquisite delight, and we revel in the lux- 
ury of mere sensation. But in the depth of winter, when 
nature lies despoiled of every charm, and wrapped in her 
shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our gratifications to 
moral sources. The dreariness and desolation of the land- 
scape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights, while 
they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings also 
from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed 
for the pleasure of the social circle. Our thoughts are more 
concentrated ; our friendly sympathies more aroused. We 

™ feel more sensibly the charm of each other's society, and 
are brought more closely together by dependence on each 
other for enjoyment. Heart calleth unto heart; and we 
draw our pleasures from the deep wells of loving-kindness, 
which lie in the quiet recesses of our bosoms ; and which, 
when resorted to, furnish forth the pure element of domestic 
felicity. 

The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on en- 
tering the room filled with the glow and warmth of the even- 
ing fire. The ruddy blaze diffuses an artificial summer and 

80 sunshine through the room, and lights up each countenance 
in a kindlier welcome. Where does the honest face of hos- 
pitality expand into a broader and more cordial smile — 
where is the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent— 
than by the winter fireside? and as the hollow blast of 
wintry wind rushes through the hall, claps the distant door, 
whistles about the casement, and rumbles down the chim- 
ney, what can be more grateful than that feeling of sober and 



CHRISTMAS. 71 

sheltered security, in which we look round upon the com- 
fortable chamber and the scene of domestic hilarity? 

The English, from the great prevalence of rural habit ^o 
throughout every class of society, have always been fond 
of those festivals and holidays which agreeably interrupt 
the stillness of country life ; and they were, in former days, 
particularly observant of the religious and social rites of 
Christmas. It is inspiring to read even the dry details 
which some antiquaries have given of the quaint humors, 
the burlesque pageants, the complete abandonment to 
mirth and good-fellowship, with which this festival was 
celebrated. It seemed to throw open every door, and un- 
lock every heart. It brought the peasant and the peer^oo 
together, and blended all ranks in one warm, generous flow 
of joy and kindness. The old halls of castles and manor- 
houses resounded with the harp and the Christmas carol, 
and their ample boards groaned under the weight of hos- 
pitality. Even the poorest cottage welcomed the festive 
season with green decorations of bay and holly— the cheer- 
ful fire glanced its rays through the lattice, inviting the 
passengers to raise the latch, and join the gossip knot hud- 
dled round the hearth, beguiling the long evening with 
legendary jokes and oft-told Christmas tales. no 

One of the least pleasing effects of modern refinement is 
the havoc it has made among the hearty old holiday customs. 
It has completely taken ofT the sharp touchings and spirited 
reliefs of these embellishments of life, and has worn down 
society into a more smooth and polished, but certainly a 
less characteristic surface. Many of the games and cere- 
monials of Christmas have entirely disappeared,, and, like 
the sherris sack of old Falstaff, are become matters of spec- 
ulation and dispute among commentators. They flourished 
in times full of spirit and lustihood, when men enjoyed life 120 
roughly, but heartily and vigorously ; times wild and pictur- 
esque, which have furnished poetry with its richest ma- 



72 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

terials, and the drama with its most attractive variety of 
characters and manners. The world has become more 
worldly. There is more of dissipation, and less of enjoy- 
ment. Pleasm^e has expanded into a broader, but a shal- 
lower stream; and has forsaken many of those deep and 
quiet channels where it flowed sweetly through the calm 
bosom of domestic life. Society has acquired a more en- 

^^^ lightened and elegant tone ; but it has lost many of its 
strong local peculiarities, its homebred feelings, its honest 
fireside delights. The traditionary customs of golden- 
hearted antiquity, its feudal hospitalities, and lordly was- 
sailings, have passed away with the baronial castles and 
stately manor-houses in which they were celebrated. They 
comported with the shadowy hall, the great oaken gallery, 
and the tapestried parlor, but are unfitted to the light showy 
saloons and gay drawing-rooms of the modern villa. 
Shorn, however, as it is, of its ancient and festive honors, 

140 Christmas is still a period of delightful excitement in Eng- 
land. It is gratifjdng to see that home feeling completely 
aroused which holds so powerful a place in every English 
bosom. The preparations making on every side for the 
social board that is again to unite friends and kindred ; the 
presents of good cheer passing and repassing, those tokens 
of regard, and quickeners of kind feelings; the evergreens 
distributed about houses and churches, emblems of peace 
and gladness : all these have the most pleasing effect in 
producing fond associations, and kindling benevolent sym- 

150 pathies. Even the sound of the Waits, rude as may be 
their minstrelsy, breaks upon the midwatches of a winter 
night with the effect of perfect harmony. As I have been 
awakened by them in that still and solemn hour, "when 
deep sleep falleth upon man," I have listened with a hushed 
delight, and, connecting them with the sacred and joyous 
occasion, have almost fancied them into another celestial 
choir, announcing peace and good- will to mankind. 



CHRISTMAS. 73 

How delightfully the imagination, when wrought upon 
by these moral influences, turns everything to melody and 
beauty! The very crowing of the cock, heard sometimes ^^^ 
in the profound repose of the country, "telling the night 
watches to his feathery dames," was thought by the com- 
mon people to announce the approach of this sacred festival. 

"Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
This bird of dawning singeth all night long ; 
■And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; 
The nights are wholesome — then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time." 

Amidst the general call to happiness, the bustle of the 
spirits, and stir of the affections, which prevail at this 
period, what bosom can remain insensible? It is, indeed, 
the season of regenerated feeling — the season for kindling 
not merely the fire of hospitality in the hall, but the genial 
flame of charity in the heart. 

The scene of early love again rises green to memory be- "° 
yond the sterile waste of years; and the idea of home, 
fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling joys, reani- 
mates the drooping spirit ; as the Arabian breeze will some- 
times waft the freshness of the distant fields to the weary 
pilgrim of the desert. 

Stranger and sojourner as I am in the land — though for 
me no social hearth may blaze, no hospitable roof throw 
open its doors, nor the warm grasp of friendship welcome 
me at the threshold — yet I feel the influence of the season 
beaming into my soul from the happy looks of those around ^^'^ 
me. Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven ; 
and every countenance, bright with smiles, and glowing 
with innocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others 
the rays of a supreme and ever-shining benevolence. He 
who can turn churlishly away from contemplating the fe- 



74 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

licity of his fellow-beings, and can sit down darkling and 
repining in his loneliness when all around is joyful, may have 
his moments of strong excitement and selfish gratification, 
but he wants the genial and social sympathies which con- 
^"stitute the charm of a merry Christmas. 



THE STAGE-COACH. 75 



THE STAGE-COACH. 

Omne bene 

Sine poena 
Tempus est ludendi. 

Venit hora 

Absque mora 
Libros deponendi. 

Old Holiday School Song. 

In the preceding paper I have made some general obser- 
vations on the Christmas festivities of England, and am 
tempted to illustrate them by some anecdotes of a Christmas 
passed in the country; in perusing which I would most 
courteously invite my reader to lay aside the austerity of 
wisdom, and to put on that genuine holiday spirit which is 
tolerant of folly, and anxious only for amusement. 

In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode 
for a long distance in one of the public coaches, on the day 
preceding Christmas. The coach was crowded, both inside lo 
and out, with passengers, who, by their talk, seemed prin- 
cipally bound to the mansions of relations or friends, to eat 
the Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers 
of game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and hares 
hung dangling their long ears about the coachman's box, 
presents from distant friends for the impending feast. I 
had three fine rosy-cheeked boys for my fellow-passengers 
inside, full of the buxom health and manly spirit which I 
have observed in the children of this country. They were 
returning home for the holidays in high glee, and promising 20 
themselves a world of enjoyment. It was delightful to 
hear the gigantic plans of the little rogues, and the imprac-' 



76 ' THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

ticable feats they were to perform during their six weeks' 
emancipation from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch, 
and pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of the 
meeting with the family and household, down to the very 
cat and dog; and of the joy they were to give their little 
sisters by the presents with which their pockets were 
crammed ; but the meeting to which they seemed to look 

^° forward with the greatest impatience was with Bantam, 
which I found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, 
possessed of more virtues than any steed since the days of 
Bucephalus. How he could trot ! how he could run ! and 
then such leaps as he would take — there was not a hedge 
in the whole country that he could not clear. 

They were under the particular guardianship of the coach- 
man, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, they 
addressed a host of questions, and pronounced him one of 
the best fellows in the world. Indeed, I could not but no- 

^° tice the more than ordinary air of bustle and importance of 
the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and 
had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the button- 
hole of his coat. He is always a personage full of mighty 
care and business, but he is particularly so during this 
season, having so many commissions to execute in conse- 
quence of the great interchange of presents. And here, 
perhaps, it may not be unacceptable to my untravelled 
readers, to have a sketch that may serve as a general rep- 
resentation of this very numerous and important class of 

5*^ functionaries, who have a dress, a manner, a language, an 
air, peculiar to themselves, and prevalent throughout the 
fraternity; so that, wherever an English stage-coachman 
may be seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any other 
craft or mystery. 

•He has commonly a broad, full face, curiously mottled 
with red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding 
into every vessel of the skin; he is swelled into jolly dimen- 



THE STAGE-COACH. 77 

sions by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk 
is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which 
he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to ^^ 
his heels. He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat ; 
a huge roll of colored handkerchief about his neck, know- 
ingly knotted and tucked in at the bosom; and has in 
summer time a large bouquet of flowers in his button-hole ; 
the present, most probably, of some enamored country lass. 
His waistcoat is commonly of some bright color striped, 
and his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet 
a pair of jockey boots which reach about half way up his 
legs. 

All this costume is maintained with much precision ; he ^^ 
has a pride in having his clothes of excellent materials • 
and, notwithstanding the seeming grossness of his appear- 
ance, there is still discernible that neatness and propriety 
of person, which is almost inherent in an Englishman. He 
enjoys great consequence and consideration along the road ; 
has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who 
look upon him as a man of great trust and dependence; 
and he seems to have a good understanding with every 
bright-eyed country lass. The moment he arrives where 
the horses are to be changed, he throws down the reins with^" 
something of an air, and abandons the cattle to the care of 
the hostler, his duty being merely to drive from one stage 
to another. When off the box, his hands are thrust into 
the pockets of his great-coat, and he rolls about the inn 
yard with an air of the most absolute lordliness. Here he 
is generally surrounded by an admiring throng of hostlers, 
stable-boys, shoeblacks, and those nameless hangers-on, 
that infest inns and taverns, and run errands, and do all 
kind of odd jobs, for the privilege of battening on the drip- 
pings of the kitchen and the leakage of the tap-room. 90 
These all look up to him as to an oracle ; treasure up his cant 
phra.ses; echo his opinions about horses and other topics 



78 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

of jockey lore; and, above all, endeavor to imitate his air 
and carriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his 
back, thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, 
talks slang, and is an embryo Coachey. 

Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that 
reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness 
in eveiy countenance throughout the journey. A stage- 

^'"' coach, however, carries animation always with it, and puts 
the world in motion as it whirls along. The horn, sounded 
at the entrance of a village, produces a general bustle. 
Some hasten forth to meet friends; some with bundles 
and bandboxes to secure places, and in the hurry of the 
moment can hardly take leave of the group that accom- 
panies them. In the meantime, the coachman has a world 
of small commissions to execute. Sometimes he delivers 
a hare or pheasant ; sometimes jerks a small parcel or news- 
paper to the door of a public house ; and sometimes, with 

^^^ knowing leer and words of sly import, hands to some half- 
blushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd-shaped billet- 
doux from some rustic admirer. As the coach rattles 
through the village, every one runs to the window, and you 
have glances on every side of fresh country faces and bloom- 
ing giggling girls. At the corners are assembled juntos of 
village idlers and wise men, who take their stations there 
for the important purpose of seeing company pass; but 
the sagest knot is generally at the blacksmith's, to whom 
the passing of the coach is an event fruitful of much spec- 

120 ulation. The smith, with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses 
as the vehicle whirls by ; the Cyclops round the anvil sus- 
pend their ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to grow 
cool ; and the sooty spectre, in brown paper cap, laboring 
at the bellows, leans on the handle for a moment, and per- 
mits the asthmatic engine to heave a long-drawn sigh, 
while he glares through the murky smoke and sulphureous 
gleams of the smithy. 



THE STAGE-COACH. 79 

Perhaps the impending holiday might have given a more 
than usual animation to the country, for it seemed to me 
as if eveiybody was in good looks and good spirits. Game, ^^" 
poultry, and other luxuries of the table, were in brisk cir- 
culation in the villages; the grocers', butchers', and fruit- 
erers' shops were thronged with customers. The house- 
wives were stirring briskly about, putting their dwellings 
in order ; and the glossy branches of holly, with their bright- 
red berries, began to appear at the windows. The scene 
brought to mind an old writer's account of Christmas prep- 
arations: ''Now capons and hens, beside turkeys, geese, 
and ducks, with beef and mutton — must all die — for in 
twelve days a multitude of people will not be fed with a ^^^ 
little. Now plums and spice, sugar and honey, square it 
among pies and broth. Now or never must music be in 
tune, for the youth must dance and sing to get them a heat, 
while the aged sit by the fire. The country maid leaves 
half her market, and must be sent again, if she forgets a 
pack of cards on Christmas eve. Great is the contention 
of holly and ivy, whether master or dame wears the 
breeches. Dice and cards benefit the butler; and if the 
cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers." 

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a i^" 
shout from my little travelling companions. They had 
been looking out of the coach windows for the last few 
miles, recognizing every tree and cottage as they approached 
home, and now there was a general burst of joy — ''There 's 
John! and there 's old Carlo! and there 's Bantam!" cried 
the happy little rogues, clapping their hands. • 

At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking serv- 
ant in livery, waiting for them ; he was accompanied by 
a superannuated pointer, and by the redoubtable Bantam, 
a little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy mane and long i^" 
rusty tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, little 
dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him. 



80 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little 
fellows leaped about the steady old footman, and hugged 
the pointer, who wriggled his whole body for joy. But 
Bantam was the great object of interest; all wanted to 
mount at once, and it was with some difficulty that John 
arranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest 
should' ride first. 

^™ Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog 
bounding and barking before him, and the others holding 
John's hands; both talking at once, and overpowering him 
with questions about home, and with school anecdotes. 
I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know 
whether pleasure or melancholy predominated; for I was 
reminded of those days when, like them, I had neither 
known care nor sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of 
eartlily felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards 
to water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of 

IS" the road brought us in sight of a neat country seat. I 
could just distinguish the forms of a lady and two young 
girls- in the portico, and I saw my little comrades, with 
Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage 
road. I leaned out of the coach window, in hopes of wit- 
nessing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it 
from my sight. 

In the evening we reached a village where I had deter- 
mined to pass the night. As we drove into the great gate- 
way of the inn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing 

1^" kitchen fire beaming through a window. I entered, and 
admired, for the hundredth time, that picture of conven- 
ience, neatness, and broad honest enjoyment, the kitchen 
of an English inn. It was of spacious dimensions, hung 
round with copper and tin vessels highly polished, and deco- 
rated here and there with a Christmas green. Hams, 
tongues, and flitches of bacon were suspended from the 
ceiling, a smoke-jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the 



THE STAGE-COACH. 81 

fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A well-scoured 
deal table extended along one side of the kitchen, with a 
cold round of beef and other hearty viands upon it, over 2"" 
which two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting guard. 
Travellers of inferior order were preparing to attack this 
stout repast, while others sat smoking and gossiping over 
their ale on two high-backed oaken settles beside the fire. 
Trim housemaids were hurrying backwards and forwards 
under the directions of a fresh, bustling landlady ; but still 
seizing an occasional moment to exchange a flippant word, 
and have a rallying laugh, with the group round the fire. 
The scene completely realized Poor Robin's humble idea 
of the comforts of midwinter : — 210 

" Now trees their leafy hats do bare 
To reverence Winter's silver hair; 
A handsome hostess, merry host, 
A pot of ale now and a toast, 
Tobacco and a good coal fire, 
Are things this season doth require." 

I had not been long at the inn when a post-chaise drove 
up to the door. A young gentleman stept out, and by the 
light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance 
which I thought I knew. I moved forward to get a nearer 
view, when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it 
was Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly good-humor6d young 
fellow, with whom I had once travelled on the continent. 
Our meeting was extremely cordial, for the countenance 
of an old fellow-traveller always brings up the recollection 
of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excel- 220 
lent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient interview at 
an inn was impossible ; and finding that I was not pressed 
for time, and was merely making a tour of observation, he 
insisted that I should give him a day or two at his father's 
country seat, to which he was going to pass the holidays, 
and which lay at a few miles distance. '' It is better than eat- 



82 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

ing a solitary Christmas dinner at an inn/' said he, "and I 
can assure you of a hearty welcome in something of the old- 
fashioned style." His reasoning was cogent, and I must 
^^^ confess the preparation I had seen for universal festivity 
and social enjoyment had made me feel a little impatient 
of my loneliness. I closed, therefore, at once, with his 
invitation ; the chaise drove up to the door, and in a few 
moments I was on my way to the famUy mansion of the 
Bracebridges. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Saint Francis and Saint Benedight 
Blesse this house f roxn wicked wight ; 
From the night-mare and the goblin, 
That is hight good fellow Robin ; 
Keep it from all evil spirits, 
Fairies, weezels, rats, and ferrets : 

From curfew time. 

To the next prime. — Cartwright. 

It was a brilliant moonlight night, but extremely cold; 
our chaise whirled rapidly over the frozen ground; the 
post-boy smacked his whip incessantly, and a part of the 
time his horses were on a gallop, ''He knows where he is . 
going," said my companion, laughing, "and is eager to 
arrive in time for some of the merriment and good cheer of 
the servants' hall. My father, you must know, is a bigoted 
devotee of the old school, and prides himself upon keeping 
up something of old English hospitality. He is a tolerable 
specimen of what you will rarely meet with nowadays in^" 
its purity, the old English country gentleman ; for our men 
of fortune spend so much of their time in town, and fashion 
is carried so much into the country, that the strong rich 
peculiarities of ancient rural life are almost polished away. 
My father, however, from early years, took honest Peacham 
for his text-book, instead of Chesterfield; he determined 
in his own mind, that there was no condition more truly 
honorable and enviable than that of a countiy gentleman 
on his paternal lands, and therefore passes tlie whole of 
his time on his estate. He is a strenuous advocate for 20 
the revival of the old rural games and holiday observances, 



84 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

and is deeply read in the writers, ancient and modern, who 
have treated on the subject. Indeed his favorite range of 
reading is among the authors who flourished at least two 
centuries since ; who, he insists, wrote and thought more 
like true Englishmen than any of their successors. He 
even regrets sometimes that he had not been born a few 
centuries earlier, when England was itself, and had its pe- 
culiar manners and customs. As he lives at some distance 

^^ from the main road, in rather a lonely part of the country, 
without any rival gentry near him, he has that most envi- 
able of all blessings to an Englishman, an opportunity of 
indulging the bent of his own humor without molestation. 
Being representative of the oldest family in the neighbor- 
hood, and a great part of the peasantry being his tenants, 
he is much looked up to, and, in general, is known simply 
by the appellation of 'The Squire' ; a title which has been 
accorded to the head of the family since time immemorial. 
I think it best to give you these hints about Vny worthy 

*" old father, to prepare you for any eccentricities that might 
otherwise appear absurd." 

We had passed for some time along the wall of a park, 
and at length the chaise stopped at the gate. It was in a 
heavy magnificent old style, of iron bars, fancifully wrought 
at top into flourishes and flowers. The huge square col- 
umns that supported the gate were surmounted by the 
family crest. Close adjoining was the porter's lodge, shel- 
tered under dark fir-trees, and almost buried in shrubbery. 
The post-boy rang a large porter's bell, which resounded 

5° through the still frosty air, and was answered by the distant 
barking of dogs, with which the mansion-house seemed 
garrisoned. An old woman immediately appeared at the 
gate. As the moonlight fell strongly upon her, I had a 
full view of a little primitive dame, dressed very much in 
the antique taste, with a neat kerchief and stomacher, and 
her silver hair peeping from under a cap of snowy white- 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 85 

ness. She came courtesying forth, with many expressions 
of simple joy at seeing her young master. Her husband, 
it seemed, was up at the house keeping Christmas eve in 
the servants' hall ; they could not do without him, as he ^° 
was the best hand at a song and story in the household. 

My friend proposed that we should alight and walk 
through the park to the hall, which was at no great distance, 
while the chaise should follow on. Our road wound through 
a noble avenue of trees, among the naked branches of which 
the moon glittered, as she rolled through the deep vault 
of a cloudless sky. The lawn beyond was sheeted with a 
slight covering of snow, which here and there sparkled as 
the moonbeams caught a frosty crystal ; and at a distance 
might be seen a thin transparent vapor, stealing up from ^o 
the low grounds and threatening gradually to shroud, the 
landscape. 

My companion looked around him with transport. 
''How often,'' said he, "have I scampered up this avenue, 
on returning home on school vacations! How often have 
I plaj'^ed under these trees when a boy! I feel a degree of 
filial reverence for them, as we look up to those who have 
cherished us in childhood. My father was always scru- 
pulous in exacting our holidays, and having us around him 
on family festivals. He used to direct and superintend «<> 
our games with the strictness that some parents do the 
studies of their children. He was very particular that we 
should play the old English games according to their orig- 
inal form ; and consulted old books for precedent and au- 
thority for every 'merrie disport'; yet I assure you there 
never was pedantry so delightful. It was the policy of the 
good old gentleman to make his children feel that home 
was the happiest place in the world ; and I value this deli- 
cious home-feeling as one of the choicest gifts a parent 
could bestow." "o 

We were interrupted by the clamor of a troop of dogs 



m THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

of all sorts and sizes, "mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, 
and curs of low degree," that, disturbed by the ring of the 
porter's bell and the rattling of the chaise, came bounding, 
open-mouthed, across the lawn. 

"— The little dogs and all, 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me!" 

cried Bracebridge, laughing. At. the sound of his voice, 
the bark was changed into a yelp of delight, and in a mo- 
ment he was surrounded and almost overpowered by the 
caresses of the faithful animals. 

"" We had now come in full view of the old family mansion, 
partly thrown in deep shadow, and partly lit up by the 
cold moonshine. It was an irregular building, of some 
magnitude, and seemed to be of the architecture of different 
periods. One wing was evidently very ancient, with heavy 
stone-shafted bow windows jutting out and overrun with 
ivy, from among the foliage of which the small diamond- 
shaped panes of glass glittered with the moonbeams. The 
rest of the house was in the French taste of Charles the Sec^ 
ond's time, having been repaired and altered, as my friend 

""told me, by one of his ancestors, who returned with that 
monarch at the Restoration. The grounds about the house 
were laid out in the old formal manner of artificial flower- 
beds, clipped shrubberies, raised terraces, and heavy stone 
balustrades, ornamented with urns, a leaden statue or two, 
and a jet of water. The old gentleman, I was told, was 
extremely careful to preserve this obsolete finery in all its 
original state. He admired this fashion of gardening; it 
had an air of magnificence, was courtly and noble, and be- 
fitting good old family style. The boasted imitation of 

120 nature in modern gardening had sprung up with modern 
republican notions, but did not suit a monarchical govern- 
ment ; it smacked of the levelling system — I could not help 
smiling at this introduction of politics into gardening, 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 87 

though I expressed some apprehension that I should find 
the old gentleman rather intolerant in his creed. — Frauk 
assured me, however, that it was almost the only instance 
in which he had ever heard his father meddle with politics ; 
and he believed that he had got this notion from a member 
of parliament who once passed a few weeks with him. The 
squire was glad of any argument to defend his clipped yew- "° 
trees and formal terraces, which had been occasionally 
attacked by modern landscape gardeners. 

As we approached the house, we heard the sound of 
music, and now and then a burst of laughter, from one end 
of the building. This, Bracebridge said, must proceed from 
the servants' hall, where a great deal of revelry was per- 
mitted, and even encouraged by the squire, throughout 
the twelve days of Christmas, provided everything was done 
conformably to ancient usage. Here were kept up the old 
games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, ^*^ 
steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap dragon : the Yule 
log and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the 
mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up, to the imminent 
peril of all the pretty housemaids. 

So intent were the servants upon their sports that we 
had to ring repeatedly before we could make ourselves 
heard. On our arrival being announced, the squire came 
out to receive us, accompanied by his two other sons ; one 
a young officer in the army, home on leave of absence ; the 
other an Oxonian, just from the university. The squire ^^o 
was a fine healthy-looking old gentleman, with silver hair 
curling lightly round an open florid countenance ; in which 
the physiognomist, with the advantage, like myself, of a 
previous hint or two, might discover a singular mixture 
of whim and benevolence. 

The family meeting was warm and affectionate ; as the 
evening was far advanced, the squire would not permit us 
to change our travelling dress, but ushered us at once to 



Ob THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

the company, which was assembled in a large old-fashioned 

^^*' hall. It was composed of different branches of a numerous 
family connection, where there were the usual proportion 
of old uncles and aunts, comfortable married dames, super- 
annuated spinsters, blooming country cousins, half-fledged 
striplings, and bright-eyed boarding-school hoydens. They 
were variously occupied ; some at a round game of cards ; 
others conversing around the fireplace ; at one end of the 
hall was a group of the young folks, some nearly grown up, 
others of a more tender and budding age, fully engrossed 
by a merry game ; and a profusion of wooden horses, penny 

"0 trumpets, and tattered dolls, about the floor, showed traces 
of a troop of little fairy beings, who, having frolicked 
through a happy day, had been carried off to slumber 
through a peaceful night. 

While the mutual greetings were going on between young 
Bracebridge and his relatives, I had time to scan the apart- 
ment. I have called it a hall, for so it had certainly been 
in old times, and the squire had evidently endeavored to 
restore it to something of its primitive state. Over the 
heavy projecting fireplace was suspended a picture of a 

i*" warrior in armor, standing by a white horse, and on the op- 
posite wall hung a helmet, buckler, and lance. At one end 
an enormous pair of antlers were inserted in the wall, the 
branches serving as hooks on which to suspend hats, whips 
and spurs ; and in the corners of the apartment were fowl- 
ing-pieces, fishing-rods, and other sporting implements. 
The furniture was of the cumbrous workmanship of former 
days, though some articles of modern convenience had been 
added, and the oaken floor had been carpeted; so that the 
whole presented an odd mixture of parlor and hall. 

i^'' The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming 
fireplace, to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of 
which was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and send- 
ing forth a vast volume of light and heat : this I understood 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 89 

was the Yule clog, which the squire was particular in having 
brought in and illumined on a Christmas eve, according to 
ancient custom. 

It was really delightful to see the old squire seated in his 
hereditary elbow chair, by the hospitable fireside of his an- 
cestors, and looking around him like the sun of a system, 
beaming warmth and gladness to every heart. Even the ^°° 
very dog that lay stretched at his feet, as he lazily shifted 
his position and yawned, would look fondly up in his mas- 
ter's face, wag his tail against the floor, and stretch himself 
again to sleep, confident of kindness and protection. There 
is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality which 
cannot be described, but is immediately felt, and puts the 
stranger at once at his ease. I had not been seated many 
minutes by the comfortable hearth of the worthy old cava- 
lier, before I found myself as much at home as if I had been 
one of the family. 210 

Supper was announced shortly after our arrival. It was 
served up in a spacious oaken chamber, the panels of which 
shone with wax, and around which were several family por- 
traits decorated with holly and ivy. Besides the accus- 
tomed lights, two great wax tapers, called Christmas can- 
dles, wreathed with greens, were placed on a highly polished 
beaufet among the family plate. The table was abundantly 
spread with substantial fare ; but the squire made his sup- 
per of frumenty, a dish made of wheat cakes boiled in milk, 
with rich spices, being a standing dish in old times for 220 
Christmas eve. 

I was happy to find my old friend, minced pie, in the 
retinue of the feast; and finding him to be perfectly or- 
thodox, and that I need not be ashamed of my predilec- 
tion, I greeted him with all the warmth wherewith we usu- 
ally greet an old and very genteel acquaintance. 

The mirth of the company was greatly promoted by the 
humors of an eccentric personage whom Mr. Bracebridge 



90 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

always addressed with the quaint appellation of Master 

^^'^ Simon. He was a tight, brisk little man, with the air of 
an arrant old bachelor. His nose was shaped like the bill 
of a parrot; his face slightly pitted with the small-pox, 
with a dry perpetual bloom on it, like a frostbitten leaf in 
autumn. He had an eye of great quiclaiess and vivacity, 
with a drollery and lurking waggery of expression that was 
irresistible. He was evidently the wit of the family, deal- 
ing very much in sly jokes and innuendoes with the ladies, 
and making infinite merriment by harping upon old themes ; 
which, unfortunately, my ignorance of the family chron- 

2^" icles did not permit me to enjoy. It seemed to be his great 
delight during supper to keep a young girl next .him in a 
continual agony of stifled laughter, in spite of her awe of 
the reproving looks of her mother, who sat opposite. In- 
deed, he was the idol of the younger part of the company, 
who laughed at everything he said or did, and at every turn 
of his countenance ; I could not wonder at it, for he must 
have been a miracle of accomplishments in their eyes. He 
could imitate Punch and Judy ; make an old woman of his 
hand, with the assistance of a burnt cork and pocket-hand- 

250 kerchief ; and cut an orange into such a ludicrous carica- 
ture, that the young folks were ready to die with laughing. 
I was let briefly into his history by Frank Bracebridge. 
He was an old bachelor, of a small independent income, 
which, by careful management, was sufficient for all his 
wants. He revolved through the family system like a va- 
grant comet in its orbit ; sometimes visiting one branch, 
and sometimes another quite remote ; as is often the case 
with gentlemen of extensive connections and small for- 
tunes in England. He had a chirping, buoyant disposition, 

260 always enjoying the present moment; and his frequent 
change of scene and company prevented his acquiring those 
rusty unaccommodating habits, with which old bachelors 
are so uncharitably charged. He was a complete famUy 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 91 

chronicle, being versed in the genealogy, history, and inter- 
marriages of the whole house of Bracebridge, which made 
him a great favorite with the old folks ; he was a beau of 
all the elder ladies and superannuated spinsters, among 
whom he was habitually considered rather a young fellow, 
and he was master of the revels among the children; so 
that there was not a more popular being in the sphere in ^^^ 
which he moved than Mr. Simon Bracebridge. Of late 
years, he had resided almost entirely with the squire, to 
whom he had become a factotum, and whom he particularly 
delighted by jumping with his humor in respect to, old 
times, and by having a scrap of an old song to suit every 
occasion. We had presently a specimen of his last-men- 
tioned talent, for no sooner was supper removed, and spiced 
wines and other beverages peculiar to the season introduced, 
than Master Simon was called on for a good old Christmas 
song. He bethought himself for a moment, and then, with ^so 
a sparkle of the eye, and a voice that was by no means bad, 
excepting that it ran occasionally into a falsetto, like the 
notes of a split reed, he quavered forth a quaint old ditty. 

" Now Christmas is coine, 

Let us beat up the drum, 
And call all our neighbors together, 

And when they appear, 

Let us make them such cheer, 
As will keep out the wind and the weather," etc. 

The supper had disposed every one to gayety, and an old 
harper was summoned from the servants' hall, where he 
had been strumming all the evening, and to all appearance 
comforting himself with some of the squire's home-brewed. 
He was a kind of hanger-on, I was told, of the establish- 
ment, and, though ostensibly a resident of the village, was 
oftener to be found in the squire's kitchen than his own 290 
home, the old gentleman being fond of the sound of ''harp 
in hall." 



92 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

The dance, like most dances after supper, was a merry 
one; some of the older folks joined in it, and the squire 
himself figured down several couple with a partner, with 
whom he affirmed he had danced at every Christmas for 
nearly half a century. Master Simon, who seemed to be a 
kind of connecting link between the old times and the new, 
and to be withal a little antiquated in the taste of his ac- 

^°° complishments, evidently piqued himself on his dancing, 
and was endeavoring to gain credit by the heel and toe, rig- 
adoon, and other graces of the ancient school ; but he had 
unluckily assorted himself with a little romping girl from 
boarding-school, who, by her wild vivacity, kept him con- 
tinually on the stretch, and defeated all his sober attempts 
at elegance : — such are the ill-assorted matches to which 
antique gentlemen are unfortunately prone ! 

The 3^oung Oxonian, on the contrary, had led out one 
of his maiden aunts, on whom the rogue played a thousand 

310 little knaveries with impunity: he was full of practical 
jokes, and his delight was to tease his aunts and cousins; 
yet, like all madcap youngsters, he was a universal favorite 
among the women. The most interesting couple in the 
dance was the young officer and a ward' of the squire's, a 
beautiful blushing girl of seventeen. From several shy 
glances which I had noticed in the course of the evening, 
I suspected there was a little kindness growing up between 
them; and, indeed, the young soldier was just the hero to 
captivate a romantic girl. He was tall, slender, and hand- 

320 some, and, like most young British officers of late years, 
had picked up various small accomplishments on the con- 
tinent ; he could talk French and Italian, draw landscapes, 
sing very tolerably, dance divinely; but, above all, he had 
been wounded at Waterloo : — what girl of seventeen, well 
read in poetry and romance, could resist such a mirror of 
chivalry and perfection ! 
The moment the dance was over, he caught up a guitar. 



CHRISTMAS, EVE. 93 

and, lolling against the old marble fireplace, in an attitude 
which I am half inclined to suspect was studied, began the 
little French air of the Troubadour. The squire, however, ^^^ 
exclaimed against having anything on Christmas eve but 
good old English ; upon which the young minstrel, casting 
up his eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struck 
into another strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, 
gave Herrick's ''Night-piece to Julia." 

" Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
The shooting stars attend thee, 
And the elves also, 
Whose little eyes glow ■ 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

"No Will o' the Wisp mislight thee; 
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee; 
But on, on thy way, 
Not making a stay^ 
Since ghost there is none to affright thee. 

"Then let not the dark thee cumber; 
What though the moon does slumber, 

The stars of the night 

Will lend thee their light. 
Like tapers clear without number. 

" Then, Julia, let me woo thee. 
Thus, thus to come unto me. 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silvery feet. 
My soul I '11 pour into thee." 

The song might or might not have been intended in com- 
pliment to the fair Julia, for so I found his partner was 
called; she, however, was certainly unconscious of any 
such' application, for she. never looked at the singer, but 
kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face was suffused, ^^° 
it is true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle 
heaving of the bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by 
exercise of the dance ; indeed, so great was her indifference, 



94 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

that she amused herself with plucking to pieces a choice 
bouquet of hot-house flowers, and by the time the song was 
concluded the nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. 

The party now broke up for the night with the kind- 
hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through 
the hall, on my way to my chamber, the dying embers of 

^^^ the Yule clog still sent forth a dusky glow, and had it not 
been the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad,' ' I should 
have been half tempted to steal from my room at mid- 
night, and peep whether the fairies might not be at their 
revels about the hearth. 

My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the pon- 
derous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the 
days of the giants. The room was panelled with cornices 
of heavy carved work, in which flowers and grotesque faces 
were strangely intermingled; and a row of black-looking 

360 portraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The 
bed was of rich, though faded damask, with a lofty tester, 
and stood in a niche opposite a bow window. I had scarcely 
got into bed when a strain of music seemed to break forth 
in the air just below the window, I listened, and found it 
proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the Waits, 
from some neighboring village. They went round the 
house, playing under the windows. I drew aside the cur- 
tains to hear them more distinctly. The moonbeams fell 
through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting 

370 up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, 
became more soft and aerial, and seemed to accord with the 
quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened — they became 
more and more tender and remote, and, as they gradually 
died away, my head sank upon the pillow, and I fell asleep. 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 95 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 

Dark and dull night, flie hence away, 
And give the honor to this day 
That sees December turn'd to May. 

Why does the chilling winter's morne 
Smile like a field beset with come? 
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne, 
Thus on the sudden? Come and See 
The cause why things thus fragrant be. 

Herrick. 

When I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if all the 
events of the preceding evening had been a dream, and 
nothing but the identity of the ancient chamber convinced 
me of their reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I 
heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door, 
and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small 
voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of 
which was — 

Rejoice; our Saviour, he was bom . i 

On Christmas day ia the morning. 

I rose softly, slipt on my clothes, opened the door sud- 
denly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy" 
groups that a painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy 
and two girls, the eldest not more than six, and lovely as 
seraphs. They were going the rounds of the house, and 
singing at every chamber door, but my sudden appearance 
frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained 
for a moment playing on their lips with their fingers, and 
now and then stealing a shy glance from under their eye- 



96 THE CEANE CLASSICS. 

brows, until, as if by one impulse, they scampered away, 
and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them 

2"^ laughing in triumph at their escape. 

Everything conspired to produce kind and happy feel- 
ings, in this stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The 
window of my chamber looked out upon what in summer 
would have been a beautiful landscape. There was a slop- 
ing lawn, a fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a 
tract of park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds 
of deer. At a distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke 
from the cottage chimneys hanging over it ; and a church, 
with its dark spire in strong relief against the clear cold sky, 

30 The house was surrounded with evergreens, according to 
the English custom, which would have given almost an ap- 
pearance of summer; but the morning was extremely 
frosty ; the light vapor of the preceding evening had been 
precipitated by the cold, and covered all the trees and every 
blade of grass with its fine crystallizations. The rays of a 
bright morning sun had a dazzling effect among the glit- 
tering foliage. A robin, perched upon the top of a mountain 
ash that hung its clusters of red berries just before my win- 
dow, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few 

40 querulous notes; and a peacock was displaying all the 
glories of his train, and strutting with the pride and gravity 
of a Spanish grandee, on the terrace walk below. 

I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared 
to invite me to family prayers. He showed me the way 
to a small chapel in the old wing of the house, where I found 
the principal part of the family already assembled in a kind 
of gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks, and large 
prayer-books ; the servants Were seated on benches below. 
The old gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of 

50 the gallery, and Master Simon acted as clerk and made the 
responses; and I must do him the justice to say, that he 
acquitted himself with great gravity and decorum. 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 97 

The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which 
Mr. Bracebridge himself had constructed from a poem of 
his favorite author, Herrick; and it had been adapted to 
an old church melody by Master Simon. As there were 
several good voices among the household, the effect was 
extremely pleasing ; but I was particularly gratified by the 
exaltation of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling; 
with which the worthy squire delivered one stanza; his*'" 
eye glistening, and his voice rambling out of all the bounds 
of time and tune : 

" 'T is thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 
With guUtlesse mirth, 
And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink, 
Spiced to the brink. 

"Lord, 'tis thy plentj'^-dropping hand 
That soiles my land. 
And giv'st me, for my bushell sowne, 
Twice ten for one." 

I afterwards understood that early morning service was 
read on eveiy Sunday and saint's day throughout the year, 
either by Mr. Bracebridge or by some member of the family. 
It was once almost universally the case at the seats of the 
nobility and gentry of England, and it is much to be re- 
gretted that the custom is falling into neglect ; for the dull- 
est observer must be sensible of the order and serenity 
prevalent in those households where the occasional exer-^" 
cise of a beautiful form of worship in the morning gives, 
as it were, the key-note to every temper for the day, and 
attunes every spirit to harmony. 

Our breakfast consisted of what the squire denominated 
true old English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamen- 
tations over modern breakfasts of tea and toast, which he 
censured as among the causes of modern effeminacy and 
weak nerves, and the decline of old English heartiness ; and 
though he admitted them to his table to suit the palates 



98 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

^"of his guests, yet there was a brave display of cold meats, 
wine, and ale, on the sideboard. 

After breakfast, I walked about the grounds with Frank 
Bracebridge and Master Simon, or Mr. Simon, as he was 
called by everybody but the squire. We were escorted by 
a number of gentlemanlike dogs, that seemed loungers about 
the establishment ; from the frisking spaniel to the steady 
old stag-hound — the last of which was of a race that had 
been in the family time out of mind — they were all obedient 
to a dog- whistle which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, 
^" and in the midst of their gambols would glance an eye oc- 
casionally upon a small switch he carried in his hand. 

The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the 
yellow sunshine than by pale moonlight ; and I could not 
but feel the force of the squire's idea, that the formal ter- 
races, heavily moulded balustrades, and clipped yew-trees, 
carried with them an air of proud aristocracy. 

There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks 
about the place, and I was making some remarks upon what 
I termed a flock of them, that were basking under a sunny 
ioowall, when I was gently corrected in my phraseology by 
Master Simon, who told me that, according to the most an- 
cient and approved treatise on hunting, I must say a muster 
of peacocks. "In the same way,'' added he, with a slight 
air of pedantry, ''we say a flight of doves or swallows, a 
bevy of quails, a herd of deer, of wrens, or cranes, a skulk 
of foxes, or a building of rooks." He went on to inform 
me that, according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought 
to ascribe to this bird "both understanding and glory; for, 
being praised, he will presently set up his tail, chiefly against 
110 the sun, to the intent you may the better behold the beauty 
thereof. But at the fall of the leaf, when his tail falleth, 
he will mourn and hide himself in corners, till his tail come 
again as it was." 

I could not help smiling at this display of small erudition 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 99 

on SO whimsical a subject; but I found that the peacocks 
were birds of some consequence at the hall; for Frank 
Bracebridge informed me that they were great favorites 
with his father, who was extremely careful to keep up the 
breed, partly because they belonged to chivalry, and were 
in great request at the stately banquets of the olden time ; ^^o 
and partly because they had a pomp and magnificence about 
them, highly becoming an old family mansion. Nothing, 
he was accustomed to say, had an air of greater state and 
dignity than a peacock perched upon an antique stone bal- 
ustrade. 

Master Simon had now to hurry off, having an appoint- 
ment at the parish church with the village choristers, who 
were to perform some music of his selection. There was 
something extremely agreeable in the cheerful flow of ani- 
mal spirits of the little man ; and I confess I had been some- ^^° 
what surprised at his apt quotations from authors who cer- 
tainly were not in the range of every-day reading. I men- 
tioned this last circumstance to Frank Bracebridge, who 
told me with a smile that Master Simon's whole stock of 
erudition was confined to some half a dozen old authors, 
which the squire had put into his hands, and which he read 
over and over, whenever he had a studious fit ; as he some- 
times had on a rainy day, or a long winter evening. Sir 
Anthony Fitzherbert's Book of Husbandry; Markham's 
Country Contentments; the Tretyse of Hunting, by Sir^^o 
Thomas Cockayne, Knight; Izaak Walton's Angler, and 
two or three more such ancient worthies of the pen, were 
his standard authorities ; and, like all men who know but 
a few books, he looked up to them with a kind of idolatry, 
and quoted them on all occasions. As to his songs, they 
were chiefly picked out of old books in the squire's library, 
and adapted to tunes that were popular among the choice 
spirits of the last century. His practical application of 
scraps of literature, however, had caused him to be looked 



100 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

^^^upon as a prodigy of book-knowledge by all the grooms, 
huntsmen, and small sportsmen of the neighborhood. 

While we were talking, we heard the distant toll of the 
village bell, and I was told that the squire was a little par- 
ticular in having his household at church on a Christmas 
morning ; considering it a day of pouring out of thanks and 
rejoicing; for, as old Tusser observed, — 

" At Christmas be merry, and thankful withal. 
And feast thy poor neighbors, the great with the small." 

"If you are disposed to go to church," said Frank Brace- 
bridge, "I can promise you a specimen of my cousin Simon's 
musical achievements. As the church is destitute of an 

"•'organ, he has formed a band from the village amateurs, 
and established a musical club for their improvement; he 
has also sorted a choir, as he sorted my father's pack of 
hounds, according to the directions of Jervaise Markham, 
in his Country Contentments; for the bass he has sought 
out all the 'deep, solemn mouths ' and for the tenor the 
'loud-ringing mouths,' among the country bumpkins; and 
for 'sweet mouths' he has culled with curious taste among 
the prettiest lassies in the neighborhood ; though these last, 
he affirms, are the most difficult to keep in tune; your 

17" pretty female singer being exceedingly wayward and capri- 
cious, and very liable to accident." 

As the morning, though frosty, was remarkably fine and 
clear, the most of the family walked to the church, which 
was a very old building of gray stone, and stood near a 
village, about half a mile from the park gate. Adjoining 
it was a low snug parsonage, which seemed coeval with the 
church. The front of it was perfectly matted with a 3'-ew- 
tree, that had been trained against its walls, through the 
dense foliage of which, apertures had been formed to admit 

180 light into the small antique lattices. As we passed this 
sheltered nest, the parson issued forth and preceded us. 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 101 

I had expected to see a sleek well-conditioned pastor, 
such as is often found in a snug living in the vicinity of a 
rich patron's table, but I was disappointed. The parson 
was a little, meagre, black-looking man, with a grizzled 
wig that was too wide, and stood off from each ear; so that 
his head seemed to have shrunk away within it, like a dried 
filbert in its shell. He wore a rusty coat, with great skirts, 
and pockets that would have held the church Bible and 
prayer-book ; and his small legs seemed still smaller, from "" 
.being planted in large shoes, decorated with enormous 
bucldes. 

I was informed by Frank Bracebridge that the parson 
had been a chum of his father's at Oxford, and had received 
this living shortly after the latter had come to his estate. 
He was a complete black-letter hunter, and would scarcely 
read a work printed in the Roman character. The editions 
of Caxton and Wynkin de Worde were his delight; and 
he was indefatigable in his researches after such old Eng- 
lish writers as have fallen into oblivion from their worth- ^oo 
lessness. In deference, perhaps, to the notions of Mr. 
Bracebridge, he had made diligent investigations into the 
festive rites and holiday customs of former times ; and had 
been as zealous in the inquiry, as if he had been a boon com- 
pa nion ; but it was merely with that plodding spirit with 
which men of adust temperament follow up any track of 
study, merely because it is denominated learning; indif- 
ferent to its intrinsic nature, whether it be the illustration 
of the wisdom, or of the ribaldry and obscenity of antiquity. 
He had pored over these old volumes so intensely, that they ^lo 
seemed to have been reflected into his countenance ; which, 
if the face be indeed an index of the mind, might be com- 
pared to a title-page of black-letter. 

On reaching the church porch, we found the parson re- 
buking the gray-headed sexton for having used mistletoe 
among the greens with which the church was decorated. 



102 THE CKANE CLASSICS. 

It was, he observed, an unholy plant, profane by having 
been used by the Druids in their mystic ceremonies ; and 
though it might be innocently employed in the festive or- 

^^^ namenting of halls and kitchens, yet it had been deemed by 
the Fathers of the Church as unhallowed, and totally unfit 
for sacred purposes. So tenacious was he on this point, 
that the poor sexton was obliged to strip down a great part 
of the humble trophies of his taste, before the parson would 
consent to enter upon the service of the day. 

The interior of the church was venerable, but simple; 
on the walls were several mural monuments of the Brace- 
bridges, and just beside the altar was a tomb of ancient 
workmanship, on which lay the effigy of a warrior in armor, 

^^° with his legs crossed, a sign of his having been a crusader. 
I was told it was one of the family who had signalized him- 
self in the Holy Land, and the same whose picture hung 
over the fireplace in the hall. 

During service. Master Simon stood up in the pew, and 
repeated the responses very audibly; evincing that kind 
of ceremonious devotion punctually observed by a gentle- 
man of the old school, and a man of old family connections. 
I observed, too, that he turned over the leaves of a folio 
prayer-book with something of a flourish, possibly to show 

^^^ off an enormous seal-ring which enriched one of his fingers, 
and which had the look of a family relic. But he was evi- 
dently most solicitous about the musical part of the service, 
keeping his eye fixed intently on the choir, and beating 
time with much gesticulation and emphasis. 

The orchestra was in a small gallery, and presented a 
most whimsical grouping of heads, piled one above the 
other, among which I particularly noticed that of the vil- 
lage tailor, a pale fellow with a retreating forehead and chin, 
who played on the clarinet, and seemed to have blown his 

^^^ face to a point ; and there was another, a short pursy man, 
stooping and laboring at a bass-viol, so as to show nothing 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 103 

but the top of a round bald head, like the egg of an ostrich. 
There were two or three pretty faces among the female 
singers, to which the keen air of a frosty morning had given 
a bright rosy tint ; but the gentlemen choristers had evi- 
dently been chosen, like old Cremona fiddles, more for tone 
than looks • and as several had to sing from the same book, 
there were clusterings of odd physiognomies, not unlike 
those groups of cherubs we sometimes see on country tomb- 
stones. 260 

The usual services of the choir were managed tolerably 
well, the vocal parts generally lagging a little behind the 
instrumental, and some loitering fiddler now and then mak- 
ing up for lost time by travelling over a passage with pro- 
digious celerity, and clearing more bars than the keenest 
fox-hunter to be in at the death. But the great trial was 
an anthem that had been prepared and arranged by Master 
Simon, and on which he had founded great expectation. 
Unluckily there was a blunder at the very outset ; the musi- 
cians became flurried ; Master Simon was in a fever; every 270 
thing went on lamely and irregularly until they came to 
a chorus beginning, "Now let us sing with one accord," 
which seemed to be a signal for parting company : all be- 
came discord and confusion ; each shifted for himself, and 
got to the end as well, or, rather, as soon as he could, ex- 
cepting one old chorister in a pair of horn spectacles, be- 
striding and pinching a long, sonorous nose, who happened 
to stand a little apart, and, being wrapped up in his own 
melody, kept on a quavering course, wriggling his head, 
ogling his book, and winding all up by a nasal solo of at ^so 
least three bars' duration. 

The parson gave us a most erudite sermon on the rites 
and ceremonies of Christmas, and the propriety of observ- 
ing it, not merely as a day of thanksgiving, but of rejoicing ; 
supporting the correctness of his opinions by the earliest 
usages of the church, and enforcing them by the authori- 



104 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

ties of Theophilus of Cesarea, St. Cyprian, St. Chrysostom, 
St. Augustine, and a cloud more of Saints and Fathers, 
from whom he made copious quotations. I was a little at 

^^"a loss to perceive the necessity of such a mighty array of 
forces to maintain a point which no one present seemed in- 
clined to dispute ; but I soon found that the good man had 
a legion of ideal adversaries to contend with; having, in 
the course of his researches on the subject of Christmas, got 
completely embroiled in the sectarian controversies of the 
Revolution, when the Puritans made such a fierce assault 
upon the ceremonies of the church, and poor old Christmas 
was driven out of the land by proclamation of Parliament. 
The worthy parson lived but with times past, and knew 

^'"* but little of the present. 

Shut up among worm-eaten tomes in the retirement of 
his antiquated little study, the pages of old times were to 
him as the gazettes of the day ; while the era of the Revo- 
lution was mere modern history. He forgot that nearly 
two centuries had elapsed since the fiery persecution of poor 
mince-pie throughout the land; when plum porridge was 
denounced as ''mere popery," and roast beef as anti-chris- 
tian; and that Christmas had been brought in again tri- 
umphantly with the merry court of King Charles at the 

310 Restoration. He kindled into warmth with the ardor of 
his contest, and the host of imaginary foes with whom he 
had to combat ; he had a stubborn conflict with old Prjmne 
and two or three other forgotten champions of the Round 
Heads, on the subject of Christmas festivity ; and concluded 
by urging his hearers, in the most solemn and affecting 
manner, to stand to the traditional customs of their fathers, 
and feast and make merry on this joyful anniversary of the 
church. 

I have seldom known a sermon attended apparently with 

320 more immediate effects; for on leaving the church, the 
congregation seemed one and all possessed with the gayety 



Christmas ])ay. 105 

of spirit so earnestly enjoined by their pastor. The elder 
folks gathered in knots in the church-yard, greeting and 
shaking hands; and the children ran about crying ''Ule! 
Ule !'' and repeating sortie uncouth rhymes, which the par- 
son, who had joined us, informed me had been handed 
down from days of yore. The villagers doffed their hats 
to the squire as he passed, giving him the good wishes of 
the season with every appearance of heartfelt sincerity, and 
were invited by him to the hall, to take something to keep ^^° 
out the cold of the weather ; and I heard blessings uttered 
by several of the poor, which convinced me that, in the 
midst of his enjoyments, the worthy old cavalier had not 
forgotten the true Christmas virtue of charity. 

On our way homeward, his heart seemed overflowed with 
generous and happy feelings. As we passed over a rising 
ground which commanded something of a prospect, the 
sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached our ears ; 
the squire paused for a few moments, and looked around 
with an air of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the 340 
day wafe, of itself, sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Not- 
withstanding the frostiness of the morning, the sun in his 
cloudless journey had acquired sufficient power to melt 
away the thin covering of show from every southern decliv- 
ity, and to bring out the living green which adorns an Eng- 
lish landscape even in mid- winter. Large tracts of smil- 
ing verdure contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of the 
shaded slopes and hollows. Every sheltered bank, on which 
the broad rays rested, yielded its silver rill of cold and limpid 
water, glittering through the dripping grass ; and sent up 350 
slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung 
just above the surface of the earth. There was something 
truly cheering in this triumph of warmth and verdure over 
the frosty thraldom' of winter; it was, as the squire ob- 
served, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, breaking 
through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawing 



106 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the 
indications of good cheer reeking from the chimneys of the 
comfortable farmhouses and low thatched cottages. "I 
^^"love," said he, ''to see this day well kept by rich and poor; 
it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, 
when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and 
of having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you ; 
and I am almost disposed to join with Poor Robin, in his 
malediction on every churlish enemy to this honest fes- 
tival : — 

" 'Those who at Christinas do repine, 

And would fain hence despatch him, 
May they with old Duke Humphry diae, 
Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em.' " 

The squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of 
the games and amusements which were once prevalent at 
this season among the lower orders, and countenanced by 
370 the higher ; when the old halls of castles and manor-houses 
were thrown open at daylight ; when the tables were cov- 
ered with brawn, and beef, and humming ale ; when the 
harp and the carol resounded all day long, and when rich 
and poor were alike welcome to enter and make merry. 
"Our old games and local customs," said he, "had a great 
effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and the pro- 
motion of them by the gentry made him fond of his lord. 
They made the times merrier, and kinder, and better, and 
I can truly say, with one of our old poets, — 



(( ( 



I like them well — the curious preciseness 
And all-pretended gravity of those 
That seek to banish hence these harmless sports, 
Have thrust away much ancient honesty.' 

' " The nation," continued he, "is altered ; we have almost 
lost our simple true-hearted peasantry. They have broken 
asunder from the higher classes, and seem to think their 
interests are separate, They have become too knowing, 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 107 

and begin to read newspapers, listen to alehouse politicfans 
and talk of reform. I think one mode to keep them in good 
humor in these hard times would he for the nobility and 
gentry to pass more time on their estates, mingle more 
among the country people, and set the merry old English 
games going again." 

Such was the good squire's project for mitigating public ^^" 
discontent : and, indeed, he had once attempted to put his 
doctrine in practice, and a few years before had kept open 
house during the holidays in the old style. The country 
people, however, did not understand how to play their parts 
in the scene of hospitality; many uncouth circumstances 
occurred ; the manor was overrun by all the vagrants of 
the country, and more beggars drawn into the neighborhood 
in one week than the parish officers could get rid of in a year. 
Since then, he had contented himself with inviting the de- 
cent part of the neighboring peasantry to call at the hall *'"' 
on Christmas day, and with distributing beef, and bread, 
and ale, among the poor, that they might make merry in 
their own dwellings. 

We had not been long home when the sound of music 
was heard from a distance. A band of country lads, with- 
out coats, their shirt sleeves fancifully tied with ribbons, 
their hats decorated with greens, and clubs in their hands, 
were seen advancing up the avenue, followed by a large 
number of villagers and peasantry. They stopped before 
the hall door, where the music struck up a peculiar air, ^lo 
and the lads performed a curious and intricate dance, ad- 
vancing, retreating, and striking their clubs together, keep- 
ing exact time to the music; while one, whimsically 
crowned with a fox's skin, the tail of which flaunted down 
his back, kept capering round the skirts of the dance, and 
rattling a Christmas-box with many antic gesticulations. 

The squire eyed this fanciful exhibition with great inter- 
est and delight, and gave me a full account of its origin. 



108 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

which he traced to the times when the, Romans held pos- 

^^" session of the island ; plainly proving that this was a lin- 
eal descendant of the sword-dance of the ancients. "It 
was now," he said, "nearly extinct, but he had accidentally 
met with traces of it in the neighborhood, and had encour- 
aged its revival; though, to tell the truth, it was, too apt 
to be followed up by the rough cudgel-play, and broken 
heads, in the evening." 

After the dance was concluded, the whole party was en- 
tertained with brawn and beef, and stout home-brewed. 
The squire himself mingled among the rustics, and was re- 

*30ceived with awkward demonstrations of deference and re- 
gard. It is true, I perceived two or three of the younger 
peasants, as they were raising their tankards to their 
mouths, when th^ squire's back was turned, making some- 
thing of a grimace, and giving each other the wink; but 
the moment they caught my eye they pulled grave faces, 
and were exceedingly demure. With Master Simon, how- 
ever, they all seemed more at their ease. His varied oc- 
cupations and amusements had made him well known 
throughout the neighborhood. He was a visitor at every 

""farmhouse and cottage; gossiped with the farmers and 
wives ; romped with their daughters ; and, like that type 
of a vagrant bachelor, the humble-bee, tolled, the sweets 
from all the rosy lips of the country round. 

The bashfulness of the guests soon gave way before good 
cheer and affability. There is something genuine and affec- 
tionate in the gayety of the lower orders, when it is excited 
by the bounty and familiarity of those above them; the 
warm glow of gratitude enters into their mirth, and a kind 
word or a small pleasantry frankly uttered by a patron, 

^5° gladdens the heart of the dependent more than oil and 
wine. When the squire had retired, the merriment in- 
creased, and there was much joking and laughter, partic- 
ularly between Master Simon and a hale, ruddy-faced, 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 109 

white-headed farmer, who appeared to be the wit of the 
village; for I observed all his companions to wait with 
open mouths for his retorts, and burst into a gratuitous 
laugh before they could well understand them. 

The whole house indeed seemed abandoned to merriment ; 
as I passed to my room to dress for dinner, I heard the 
sound of music in a small court, and looking through a 
window that commanded it, I perceived a band of wander- 
ing musicians, with pandean pipes and tambourine; a 
pretty coquettish housemaid was dancing a jig with a 
smart country lad, whUe several of the other servants were 
looking on. In the midst of her sport the girl caught a 
glimpse of my face at the window, and, coloring up, ran 
off with an air of roguish affected confusion. 



ISrOTES. 



LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

Line 31. This little valley. The Sunnyside, Irving's later home, 
was the enlarged stone cottage of the Van Tassels of this story, and 
his last years were spent in this retreat. 

43. Hendrick Hudson, or Henry Hudson, was a noted English 
navigator and explorer of the seventeenth century, who hunted for 
the Northwest passage to India and found the river and the bay 
that bear his name. He was lost at sea in 1611. A mutinous crew 
put him and eight others into a small boat and set them adrift. 

52. Nightmare, etc. See King Lear. 

65. Church. A Dutch church built in 1699. Said to be still 
standing. 

131. Eelfot. A trap with a funnel-shaped opening made for 
catching eels. The opening let in the eels readily, but the narrow 
opening outward prevented their escape. 

142. Golden maxim. See Proverbs, xiii: 24. 

188. The lion. The old New England Primer has a picture il- 
lustrating the letter L, in which a lion is holding a lamb in its paw 
The cut has the lines accompanying it : 

" The lion bold 
The lamb doth hold." 

194. Psalmody. Psalm-singing. 

233. Cotton Mather, son of Increase Mather, grandson of John 
Mather, was bom in 1663, and died in 1728. He graduated at 
Harvard College in 1684. He was a clergyman, and a writer of 
many books. He believed in witchcraft, and considered it a duty 
to put witches to death. 

264. In linked sweetness, etc. From Milton's L'AUegro: 

" And ever against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to immortal verse 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
In notes with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out." 
(Ill) 



112 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

323. Saardam. A Holland town known also as Zaandam, about 
five miles from Amsterdam. Here Peter the Great of Russia worked 
as a shipwright, learning how to build ships to make a navy for 
Russia. 

398. Kentucky, etc. At this time (1819) the Far West lay just 
west of the Appalachian Mountains. 

479. Don Cossacks. The scouts and skirmishers of the Russian 
army. They form an irregular cavalry. The Don Cossacks were 
those of the regions of the River Don, the Danube, and the Black 
Sea. 

511. Achilles. The noted Greek warrior in the Trojan war He 
refused to fight more in the tenth year of the war, because Agamem- 
non had taken from him his beautiful captive maiden Briseis, whom 
he loved. The Greeks were almost helpless without this great leader 
Achilles, and had to resort to strategy to take Troy. 

677. Monteiro. A cap having flaps that could be drawn down 
about the head from the round crown. Spelled also montero. 

752. Olykoek. A doughnut; Diitch oil-cake. 

827. Mynheer. My Lord. A term ia Dutch signifying Mr., or 
Sir, in English. Here means merely a Dutchman. 

828. White Plains. A battle in the Revolutionary War. 

943. Very witching time of night. "The very witching time of 
night when graveyards yawn." (Hamlet.) 

1105. That bridge. The superstition was that witches could not 
cross a stream. 

1180. Ten-pound court. A court dealing with such cases as in- 
volved ten pounds or less. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Manhattoes. City of New York. So called in Knickerbocker's 
History of New York. 

RIP VAN WINKLE. 

30. Irving's "History of New York" very deeply offended many 
citizens of Dutch descent, because of its ridicule of the Dutch char- 
acteristics. 

38. New-Year cakes. A cake much used in New York at New 
Year's. It is a Dutch custom to do this. 

40. Queen Anne's Farthing. It was a common story that only 
three farthings were struck during Queen Anne's reign; that two 
of these were held in museums, and the finder of the third, which 
was lost, would be able to receive a great price for it. There were, 



NOTES. 113 

however, eight coinings in Queen Anne's time, and the pieces have 
little value. 

63. Peter Stuyvesant. The Governor of New Netherlands from 
1647 to 1664. He is one of the most prominent men of the history 
of early New York. 

489. Federal or Democrat. The two political parties in the time 
of Jefferson's administration. 

521. Stony Point. The place on the Hudson where Mad Anthony 
Wayne made his daring attack, July 15, 1779. 

523. Antony's Nose. A promontory so called, a few mUes 
above Stony Point. In Irving's "History of New York" is the fol- 
lowing extract: 

"It must be known, then, that the nose of Antony the trum- 
peter was of a very lusty size, strutting boldly from his countenance 
like a mountain of Golconda. . . . Now thus it happened, 
that bright and early in the morning the good Antony, having 
washed his burly visage, was leaning over the quarter-railing of the 
gaUey, contemplatng it in the glassy wave below. Just at this 
moment the illustrious sun, breaking in all his splendor from be- 
hind a high bluff of the highlands, did dart one of his most potent 
beams full upon the refulgent nose of the sounder of brass — the 
reflection of which shot straightway down, hissing hot, into the water, 
and killed a mighty sturgeon that was sporting beside the vessel! 
When this astonishing miracle came to be made known to 
Peter Stuyvesant he . . . marvelled exceedingly; and as a 
monument thereof, he gave the nanae of Antony's Nose to a stout 
promontory in the neighborhood, and it has continued to be called 
Antony's Nose ever since that time." 

599. Historian. Adrian Vanderdonk. 

Note. — ^Emperor Frederick der Rothbart, the Redbeard, as the 
legend went, did not die, but fell asleep, to be wakened when Ger- 
many should need him. 

THE STAGE-COACH. 

The stanza in Latin teUs that it is well there is a time for making 
merry without any punishment to foUow, and the hour has come 
for putting books away. 

33. Bucephalus. Horse of Alexander the Great, which, accord- 
ing to tradition, he tamed in his boyhood. 

122. Cyclops. A race of giants of old mythology who assisted 
Vulcan the blacksmith at his forge. 

140. Twelve days. Christmas holidays were in the past cele- 
brated twelve days. Twelfth Night, January 6, terminated the 
season usually, although it sometirnes was extended to February 
'2, or Candlenias. 



114 THE CRANE CLASSICS. 

197. Smoke-jack. A wheel or fan so placed tliat the current 
of air up the chimney revolved it. It was used to turn a spit. 

209. Poor Robin. Robert Herrick's pen-name, under which he 
pubUshed an almanac from 1661 to 1699. 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

15. Peacham. Peacham's book, "The Complete Gentleman," 
published in 1622. 

16. Chesterfield. The Earl of Chesterfield in a book, "Letters 
to a Son," set forth the manners and morals of a gentleman. It was 
for a long time an authority on that subject. 

143. Mistletoe. A custom having its origin in the old Celtic 
Druidism when the Britons worshipped the oak tree and reverenced 
the inistletoe, a parasite upon it. When the Celts were Christian- 
ized they transferred the mistletoe to become a Christmas decora- 
tion, th^ heathen symbol typifying the Christian festival. It has 
become a traditional decoration for the Christmastide, although it 
has no holy significance. 

194. Yule clog. The Yule clog is a great log of wood, sometimes 
the root of a tree, brought into the house with great ceremony, on 
Christmas eve, laid in the fireplace, and lighted with the brand of 
last year's clog. While it lasted, there was great drinking, singing, 
and tellmg of tales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas 
candles; but in the cottages the only light was from the ruddy 
blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule clog was to burn- all night ; 
if it went out, it was considered a sign of ill luck. 

Herrick mentions it in one of his songs : 

The Yule clog is still burnt in many farmhouses and kitchens 
in England, particularly in the north, and there are several super- 
stitions connected with it among the peasantry. If a squinting 
person come to the house while it is burning, or a person barefooted, 
it is considered an ill omen. The brand remaining from the Yule 
clog is carefully put away to light the next year's Christmas fire. 
— W. I. 

CHRISTMAS DAT. 

62. Wassaile. Anglo-Saxon word meaning "Be in health." 
Hence the liquid used in drinking to one's health. 

196. Black-letter hunter. A lover of old books; hence books 
printed in the old English type. Such books belong to the fourteenth 
century. 

206. Adjust. From Latin adjustus, inflamed or scorched. Here 
suggesting a gloomy or melancholy temperament. 

299. Parliament. From the Flying Eagle, a small gazette, pub:- 



NOTES. 115 

lished December 24, 1652: "The House spent much time this day 
about the business of the Navy, for settling the affairs at sea, and, 
before they rose, were presented with a terrible remonstrance against 
Christmas day, grounded upon divine Scriptures, 2 Cor. v. 16; 1 
Cor. XV. 14, 17; and in honour of the Lord's Day, grounded upon 
these Scriptures, John xx. 1; Rev. i. 10; Psalm cxviii. 24; Lev. 
xxiii. 7, 11; Mark xv. 8; Psalm Ixxxiv. 10; in which Christmas is 
called Anti-christ's masse, and those Masse-mongers and Papists 
who observe it, &c. In consequence of which Parliament spent 
sonae time in consultation about the abolition of Christmas day» 
passed orders to that effect, and resolved to sit on the following 
day, which was commonly called Christmas day." — W. I. 

313. Round-Heads. A name given in derision to the Puritans 
because they wore the hair closely cropped about the ears, instead 
of hangmg in a queue, as was the custom of the day. 

324. Ule. A corruption of Yule. The rhymes ran: 
" Ulel Ule! 
Three puddings in a pule^ 
Crack nuts and cry ' Ule.' " 

366. Duke Humphry. The Duke of Gloucester, Humphrey Plan- 
tagenet, was Henry IV.'s youngest son. To dine with him at first 
signified to have a good dinner. Later, after his death, it meant to 
have a poor dinner, or to go without one. 

Verse. Squire Ketch. Also Jack Ketch, an English name for 
a public hangman. 



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